

To Kiss a Werewolf

(Werewolf Kisses, #1)

Copyright Molly Snow 2013

Published by Breezy Reads at Smashwords
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting hard work of this author.

Published 2013 by Breezy Reads

Contact: breezyreads@gmail.com

BreezyReads.com

ISBN: 978-1-938327-09-4
What some Goodreads users have to say:

"To Kiss A Werewolf' was a fun read, full of surprises!" —Tracy

"A fresh take on almost everything para-related." —Kirsten

"Highly recommend for young adults and adults that enjoy an interesting, well written story." —Jane

ONE

Damien slid another Capernalli stuffed crust special out of the brick oven, onto a pizza pan, and across a counter. He wiped the back of his glistening forehead with his forearm. Five nights out of the week, it was the same routine, yet he would be a fool to complain about it. Working at his Uncle Leo's pizzeria, Dough-licious, gave him extra cash and time with his friends. Then there were the girls. Not that Damien needed the extra money, friends, or especially girls.

He went to a refrigerator and pulled out a lump of dough, then returned to his spot. As he mashed the stuff against the flour-powdered counter, his eyes couldn't help but focus on the muscles of his forearms, pumping with each push. They were bigger than usual. It had been weeks since he went to the rec center and lifted weights. Was he having some sort of growth spurt, or could swimming in the surf of the ocean make that much of a difference? Either way, it was another thing he'd be a fool to complain about.

"Hey, brah! Wassup?!" a voice called from the front counter.

He looked up and saw his friend Tyler. The blond guy with a shell choker smiled big. "Wassup!" Damien called back, purposefully not reciprocating his "brah."

Being new in town, about six months now, made it so Damien had to get used to some foreign beach lingo. He was fine with Tyler, or the others, saying "Brah," but the word could never roll off his own tongue.

"Heading out to the shore tonight?" Tyler asked.

"You know it." Damien nodded. He'd gone nearly seven days a week for all of July. August wouldn't be any different.

"Cool. There will be a bonfire this time."

"Cool, see you there."

When Tyler walked away, a girl who had been standing right behind him, waiting, came into view. Silky long black hair shimmered down the sides of her face, down the sides of her sad yet strangely beautiful eyes. A gray cardigan sweater wrapped over... a zombie t-shirt? Zombie Fallout, it read, advertising a book.

No one was at the register. Damien looked around, waiting a moment longer, before coming forward.

"Uh, can I help you?" He leaned against the counter. With satisfaction, he noticed the girl catch a look at his bicep that bulged from under his white tee. Even though she wasn't his usual type, he went into auto-drive, flashing a smile at her with perfectly straight and white teeth.

Her eyes flitted away from him to the menu. "I, um, I don't know." She wiped some hair behind an ear.

"You're not sure what you want?"

"I mean, I know that I want pizza."

"Well, then you've come to the right place." The entire menu consisted of pizzas, besides the drinks. Uncle Leo was against salad bars.

She cleared her throat. "Yeah, do you sell by like the slice?"

"That's during lunch hours only. Your first time here?" As soon as he asked that, he knew it sounded like a come-on. This girl was different, but he couldn't help but feel a slight attraction, and it came out in his tone.

"Y-yes. It's my first time here."

"Well, we got the Emo—I mean, Primo Pizza, which is my favorite."

"I'm not emo."

"I didn't say you were." He coughed to cover his embarrassment. What was that?

Tina's heels click-clacked against the concrete floor. The new and voluptuous cashier from last semester's biology class came back to the register. "Hey, Damien. Thanks." She touched his arm. "I got this."

"Alright." He acknowledged her with a nod and returned to his back counter. He rolled out some more dough and mashed it, while keeping an eye on the rest of the transaction up front. Lately, Tina had been stealing his attention, but he couldn't help but wonder who that customer girl was. Had he seen her before? Maybe had a class with her?

Tina filled a glass with some Mr. Pibb and soon the customer girl was off with it in hand.

"What's the order?" he called out.

"Just a soda." Tina ripped off the receipt and crinkled it.

"No pizza?" he asked, perplexed.

"Nope!" She threw the paper in a trash and started walking toward him, her apron tied tightly to accentuate every curve, Dough-licious spread across her chest.

"Oh." He wiped his hands on his own apron, watching her, but his thoughts weren't on her and her dough-liciousness.

'"Oh' what?" Tina was now in front of him, her eyes twinkling.

"It's just that she said she wanted pizza." His dark eyebrows furrowed at the thought.

"So, Damien," she leaned on his countertop, "I've been thinking..."

*

"That was so stupid," Stella whined once outside. "I was so stupid. I can't believe you talked me into that." She only had a couple sips of her Mr. Pibb, before she had placed her drink on a table and rushed with a huff out of there.

"You mean you actually did it?" Kit, her best friend, smiled. "What did he say?"

"No, I didn't do it." Stella put a hand to her forehead and held it there. "That was just stupid. He now thinks I'm stupid."

"Well, think on the bright side—at least he knows you exist."

"Kit, I can't believe you sometimes." Besides soggy French fries and the color pink, listening to Kit now ranked at the top of her extremely-dislike list.

"I know, but you love me." Kit tilted her head, her short purple hair shining in the night.

Stella released the hand from her forehead and sighed. "So now what?"

"Well, you still need to fulfill your dare."

"Huh?!"

"It's only fair for you to finish the job."

Caleb rushed to the sidewalk, where they stood. "What did I miss? Did you do it? You did it?" His dark hair fell across one side of his face.

Stella glared at him.

"You didn't do it," he said. "What are we going to have her do now? We have to up the ante."

Stella rolled her green eyes. "Caleb, you just had to act like a dog."

"Au contraire! I didn't just have to act like a dog. I had to crouch on top of a doghouse in Sarah Connor's backyard, howling and yapping until you two were satisfied," he flung his arms out, "while she watched me from her bedroom window!"

He was right. She had to admit, it was pretty gutsy. But what could be worse than walking into Dough-licious, right up to Damien Capernalli, most popular guy in high school, and asking him on a date? Especially when she didn't want a date with him to begin with. Popular guys are just so full of themselves, exchanging girlfriends as often as their underwear. The thought made her imagine Damien as a boxers kind of guy. Even with an Angry Birds or SpongeBob motif, he would surely be scorching hot. Ugh! She kicked the thought out of her mind.

"Okay," Stella said, thinking fast, "I could wear something really girly on the first day of school. That would definitely make me feel like dying."

Her friends smiled knowingly at each other, smiles that said they weren't going to let her off the hook that easily. "You can't choose your dare," Kit said. "Plus, school won't be in session for another month."

"Yeah," Caleb said. "You have to do something tonight, like we did."

"This really is not fair. You two like making fools of yourselves. Kit, you liked singing I'm a Little Tea Pot to Jason at Taco Bell's drive-thru."

"You didn't have to play the game," Kit reminded her. "But you agreed it would be fun."

"I did think it would be fun, because I thought it would be like a regular game of Truth or Dare. Not like some Fear Factor TV show."

Kit chuckled at that. "We didn't ask you to eat bugs."

"Well, maybe you should have." Stella crossed her arms defiantly, and looked up to the cloudy sky. And how long would Shoreline be so cloudy, making summer nights colder than they should be? Didn't they live in a beach town? How come the stereotypes couldn't match real life? She should have known moving to Oregon would be too far north; it's not like sunshiny San Diego by a long stretch. Thankfully, her beach trip to California was just around the corner.

"Okay, Stella, are you ready to finish your dare?" Kit nudged.

"What if I just resign as a player?"

"Then," Caleb said, "you won't be able to come with us to Comic-Con."

"Dude, I'm not the one into comics and cosplay," Stella reminded.

Kit's eyes sparkled mischievously. "That's right. She's not. We have to think of something else. Okay, I got it. If you don't follow through with the dare, then I won't drive you to The Deathheads' meet and greet. In fact, I won't even take you to their concert."

The Deathheads were only the coolest hair band ever. Never had any other group been the face of the super-mega-ultra-repel-bullets-with-one-single-squirt hairsprays found in travel sections across the nation. And no one but their lead singer Rock could properly pull off stretchy, leather hip-huggers, blitzed in rhinestones no less. Being a girl, even Stella wouldn't, couldn't, pull it off. Most of all, Stella wouldn't, couldn't, possibly miss the concert. It was their reunion tour. The opportunity would never come again.

"Kit, don't use your car against me. Not when it comes to The Deathheads. You know how much I have been squeeing over the opportunity to see them live and get their autographs."

Just then the front door whipped open. A guy had his arm around a girl and they merrily went on their way to a red jeep. The door opened again and a guy shouted at the two, "Don't forget, tonight is the big bonfire! Tell Travis, too!"

"Alright! See ya," the one with a date called back.

"Okay, then..." Kit's eyes returned to Stella and she said, "Just do your dare, like we did ours."

"Oooh, I got the perfect idea!" Caleb smiled wickedly. "If you fail to go through with this dare, then you have to go to the bonfire tonight—you know, where all the surfers, including Damien, will be—and we'll dress you up like Sandy from Grease!" He guffawed at his clever little plan.

Stella rolled her eyes and guessed it was only fair she follow through with their first order. Who knew that her dare would be like this, though? Asking the guy she was least interested in on a date? She never even asked the ones she did like on dates. This was going to be harder than anything she ever had to do. Well, besides breaking up with Billy. That was definitely hard. She reassured herself that this should actually be a cake walk in comparison.

"Alright, alright. I'll do it." She exhaled.

"For real this time?" Caleb took a bite of beef jerky from out of his pocket.

"Yeah, whatever." She took a deep breath, and walked backwards toward the door.

"You go, girl!" he offered.

Stella shook her head at her friends, when the door suddenly swung open again. Someone slammed into her from behind. She fell hard to her knees, and scraped her palms, having caught herself from further injury. "Watch where you're going!" she exclaimed, picking herself back up off the ground and wiping her jeans.

"Oh, wow! I'm so sorry," said a familiar voice. "I-I didn't see you there."

Stella turned around to eye the idiot. "You didn't see me here?"

His deep brown eyes looked her over in concern. Part of her—a very small part—almost forgave him right off the bat. He answered, "Yeah, I... don't know why. It's dark out. Your hair's black. I'm sorry. You okay?"

Stella caught her friends watching closely by in anticipation. That was just wonderful. Did they expect her to suddenly switch gears by asking him on a date right then and there? "Why would you barrel out the door like that anyway?" she snapped.

"My jeep. My friend's borrowing it, but I forgot my cell phone. Hey, I'm really sorry." He looked Stella over from head to toe, causing her to suddenly feel very insecure. Her palms were slightly dirty, bloody, and then there was the terrible stinging sensation. But the fact that Damien Capernalli was that close to her, looking so closely at her with his deep brown eyes, it overwhelmed all other senses.

"Well, just be careful next time," she said, and thought instantly how stupid that sounded. Next time he was about to what? Knock over some lame girl in a parking lot?

"Let me make it up to you," he said. "You wanted a slice of pizza, right? I'll get you a slice of pizza. I'll make it however you want—extra pepperoni, stuffed crust, the works."

Hm, maybe her dare wouldn't be so hard. After the accident, he was pretty much putty in her hands and she knew it. All she had to do was say the words, and all would be fulfilled. He would politely reject her, which she wanted anyway. And then seeing her favorite band of all-time would be back on the calendar. Oh, and playing Truth or Dare would forever be out of the question.

She nodded, feeling her knees shake. He held the door for her, and on the way in Kit and Caleb gave her thumbs up... as if that would help.

After washing her scraped up hands in the restroom, Stella sat herself in a corner table, away from a bunch of the other teens socializing. Damien soon came back with a double pepperoni, thin crust slice, precisely as she requested. "Here you are," he said, slipping a plate onto her table.

Stella thought she better say something before her nerves played this game out any longer. Besides, Damien, oddly enough, was lingering over the chair across from her. "Thank you," she started.

"You're welcome," he said, studying her further with his eyes. Stella wondered if maybe she had something on her face. She glanced at her reflection in the metal napkin holder. Everything seemed okay.

"Can I do anything else for you?"

Stella was considering maybe she had given the popular guy too little credit. Maybe he was pretty decent. Don't think seriously about this, she told herself. It's a game. And his question was the perfect segue for her to be done with the ridiculous dare. "Uh, yeah, Damien..." She cleared her throat, and looked down to her hands which were balled up nervously on her lap. "I was wondering if, like, maybe we could go out, like on a date I mean. I totally understand if you—"

She looked back up. His eyes were on something, or rather someone else. Tina. She was pointing at her watch, and he was nodding with a smile. "Oh," he turned his attention back to Stella, "did you say something?"

Now frustration and anger pushed her fear deep, deep down. Why was she so nervous, over a guy who would forget about her in 2.5 seconds flat, after he was done giving her a slice of charity pizza? Over a guy who moments ago basically called her an Emo? He wasn't worth getting all flustered up over. "Yes, I did say something. I was freaking asking you on a date. So just hurry up and tell me no, so I can be done with this."

His dark eyebrows quirked as he did a double-take. "You were asking me on a date?"

"Yeah," she huffed. "I know, that's weird. I'll just go. I'm sure you have plans or a girlfriend or—"

"I... do have plans. But I'm—"

"No need to say sorry." She suddenly stood up, her chair screeching against the floor, drawing attention from everyone to her little corner. Stella just hoped they hadn't heard what she said to him. Quickly wiping her hair behind her ears, she started away from her table, away from Damien Capernalli.

"Your pizza...," Damien trailed.

Stella stopped, and knowing full-well she would make a complete fool of herself, she turned and said loudly, "I don't want the pizza! I just want to go."

Damien looked at her incredulously. "Go then. No one's stopping you."

Stella hurried to the door, feeling all eyes on her. It would be recorded in her journal as one of the worst nights of her life.

Dear Diary:

Tonight was one of the worst nights of my life...

As always,

Stella

*

Sea salt wafted in the humid sky, the full moon hidden by dark, puffy clouds. Normally, Damien would be feeling on top of the world. A night at the beach, with a pack of friends and girls—one in particular basically throwing herself at him. The typical blonde bombshell cheerleader. Piece of cake. But things weren't feeling quite right.

Tina wrapped an arm around his, as she sat with him beside the crackling bonfire. She endlessly giggled, even when he wasn't joking. It was way overboard. She was trying too hard, and suddenly she wasn't as attractive. Man, why be so serious? he told himself. Just go with it. She's hot. You like her. She obviously likes you.

But it was hard to let loose when he kept thinking about that girl at his uncle's pizzeria. She must have known him from school. She had called him by name. So, why couldn't he put a finger on who she was, what class they may have taken together? He not only knocked her to the ground like a fool, he did something else to anger her. If only he knew what that was... What made it worst of all, he was actually going to accept her request for a date. It's just that tonight he already had plans with Tina.

A half hour later, Damien was making out with the blonde in his jeep. He was going through the motions, but his head still wasn't clear. Why was he going to let some random girl from earlier that night ruin his mood? It was so, so irritating. He wished she never walked into his workplace. Whoever she was. Whatever her name was. Tonight could have been so much easier, not being confused over some dark and depressed Goth girl.

As he kissed Tina's neck, the scent of her floral perfume quickly morphed from soft and seductive to strong and sickening. As if he had licked a bar of soap, he could taste the smell. He pulled back and shook his head, wiping his nose with a shoulder.

Tina's hands were around his neck the next second. Her fake fingernails lightly pressed into his skin as she pulled him back down. Not wanting to totally ruin the moment, he surrendered, and told himself to get a grip. He moved away from her neck and back to her mouth. Soap. He could still taste her perfume. Nostrils flared and he pulled back again, cringing.

"Come here," Tina breathed. "Don't play hard to get now."

He opened his mouth and panted, hoping to release the flavor. Looking up to the half-moon that peeked through a cluster of dark clouds, he suddenly felt like gagging. In the next moment, he leapt off the girl and ran to the center of some fir trees that bordered the beach.

"What's the matter?!" Her voice trailed after him.

Damien hunched over and grabbed his knees. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. He was sure he was going to vomit whatever stomach flu suddenly overtook him, but instead he felt possessed to howl hoarsely into the night: "Owoooo!"

TWO

There was a strange sound outside Stella's window. A scratching, which could have been from a tree, or could have been something else, or rather someone else, like... her ex. When the face appeared, smiling at her through the glass, Stella jumped back against her dresser. She was certain she saw his gray eyes and light curly hair.

The window slid open. "It's just me!" said Kit. "Holy cow, don't have a heart attack." She pulled herself inside.

"It didn't look like you. Don't ever do that again." Stella shook her hands, hoping to rid her body of the fear that still laced her spine. That feeling was all too familiar. She didn't want to have any reminders.

"Sorry." Kit tilted her head. "Anyway, I told you I was coming."

"Yeah, but I expected you to enter through the front door, like a normal person."

Kit came over and wrapped her arms around Stella's neck. "Okay, pooky, but you should know by now I am not normal."

That was definitely true. Stella squeezed her friend tighter. "Yes, I know. And that's why I can tolerate you."

"You more than just tolerate me."

"Okay, you had me at hello."

"I know, right? Plus, the most normal people are abnormal. That's why I prefer to be abnormally normal instead of normally abnormal."

"Okay, I think I got that...."

Kit stepped back and eyed the room. Stella knew everything was the same as ever. Same monster posters on the walls, same bookcase filled with the latest paranormal fiction. The only difference was a suitcase sitting open on the bed next to a camo duffel bag. "I'll miss you." Kit sighed.

"It's only going to be three days." Stella gave a wry smile and grabbed some socks from a dresser drawer. "And I'm not leaving until Friday."

"Four! You'll be gone four days. Friday through Monday."

"Oh yeah. Well, you'll have Caleb. I'm sure you two will have lots of fun." She shoved the socks into the duffel bag.

Kit plopped onto the bed and folded a lumped up pair of jeans. "Caleb's a cool cat, but I think I want a boyfriend."

"Then maybe you should change your status on Facebook from Married to Single. Oh, and take Caleb's name off as your spouse. That could help."

"You think?" Kit sighed. "Too bad you aren't a guy. We'd be perfect together."

"Maybe..., but I could never date someone with your color hair."

"Oh, so you gotta problem with the color purple? Hair's not everything, you know. What if I was tall with rippling muscles that you couldn't resist? Then would my hair be such an issue?"

"Okay, this conversation is getting really weird." Stella eyed her, but went on out of amusement. "Hair is practically everything. A guy has got to have nice hair."

"You wouldn't go for me with a shaved head then?"

"Okay, well, let me remind you we are still talking about guys, not you. And, no, I couldn't go for a guy with a shaved head."

"That's pretty discriminatory."

"Huh? What do you mean by that?" Stella grabbed some shirts out of the closet.

"Well, there are a lot of guys who shave their heads. You're basically leaving, what, twenty-five percent of the population out? And what if the man you marry one day starts losing his hair? What if," she stood up, talking faster, "he lost most of it by thirty? Would you just leave him, then? This poor, balding man, who gave you his heart and soul—you would just file for divorce after popping out four kids with him, over him losing his hair? Or maybe worse, you force him to purchase hair plugs. For the love of Pete, Stella, don't be so shallow!"

Stella's green eyes went wide and she froze in position, a shirt half-folded in her hands. "I think it's my turn to say 'Holy cow.' Holy freaking cow, Kit. It's just a preference. I won't divorce my husband over hair. And four babies by thirty? Whoa."

"Okay." Kit's eyebrows went up as she excitedly continued the conversation. "You have to tell me, then, does this obsession with hair make you 'prefer' guys like Fabio?"

"Obsession? Okay, I like nice hair, but it isn't an obsession. You are now making it sound like I would keep locks of boys' hair at my bedside, and pleasurably sniff them all night long. Besides, Fabio is like my mom's age. Maybe you should ask her."

Kit dropped back onto the bedspread, putting her hands above her head. "Alright, enough about hair. Did I tell you lately that I am super duper proud of you?"

"Heh. Only like five billion times. You're still so proud of me for making a fool of myself last weekend?" Stella grabbed a pair of what looked like army boots from off her closet's top shelf. She couldn't forget to bring those.

"You did it. You went through with it. It took guts." Kit smiled, still lying down, but now her hands were under her head as she stared at the ceiling plastered with horror movie posters. "And Damien's probably forgotten all about it. You can resume your title as Number One Wallflower at Shoreline High next semester without a blip. I'm sure of it."

Stella had to laugh at that. She agreed, but still had to ask, "Is that what I am, really?"

"You know it." Kit whapped her playfully with a yellow vintage tee.

Stella didn't mean to be such a wallflower. Deep down, she really did crave more of a social life, though her only real friends were Kit and Caleb. It's not like she never had a boyfriend, or had never been kissed either. From time to time, guys would hit on her... like the attendant at the gas station, then there was the kid with the bug collection, and what about the one who always stared at her in the quad? She wouldn't even let herself think of the latest weirdo. So she knew she wasn't repulsive. She could even be desirable, given the right guy with the right amount of social problems got a whiff of her.

Ultimately, she knew the real answer to her dateless existence was she had been purposefully guarded against others, for the same reason she was freaked out by Kit scratching at her window just minutes ago. It was time to move on, though. Time to put the past where it deserved to be... in the past. That's what she hoped for anyway.

"I've been thinking," Stella slowly confessed, kind of hating the fact that her friend was always right about these things. "I'm proud of myself, too. I should probably try and spread my figurative wings a little more."

"For real?"

"For real. I was traumatized over the dare you had me do for like three whole days, but then I realized something—it actually made me feel powerful, if that makes sense. Even though it was extremely embarrassing, it makes me wonder what else I am capable of."

*

Beyoncé was singing over the store's speakers. Kit was sitting between racks of trendy clothes. Stella was inside the fitting room, shaking her head at the options before her. Swimsuits.

"These look like they came off life-size Barbie dolls," came the deflated voice through the fitting room's door.

"No," Kit retorted. "More like Sports Illustrated. Hurry your butt up and try one on for me."

The yellow string bikini was worst of all. Stella rolled her eyes, passing it by for the white one-piece. She wiggled it over her hips and strapped it over her shoulders after adjusting the seamlessly attached bra.

It was so tight; but then, what else did she expect? It had just been so long since she last tried on a swimsuit. Like she was maybe ten-years old, splashing around the water park, the last time. She snapped the stretchy material around her thighs and armpit area and eyed herself with a cocked eyebrow. It wasn't altogether terrible.

"Hurry, Stella. It's been like ten minutes already, and you haven't shown me a thing."

Stella creaked open the door a couple inches and spied the premises before exiting. She stood in front of Kit awkwardly, continually going back and forth between rubbing at her long hair to clutching her stomach.

"Ooo la la. Reminds me of Marilyn Monroe. Not bad. Now try on the yellow one."

"I am not going to buy that thing. This one is the furthest that I will go."

Kit rolled her head. "Just humor me. You can hate me later. Just try it on really quick."

The white suit was placed back on its hanger, the yellow bikini now clutched in Stella's grasp. Quickly, she maneuvered her legs through the strings she assumed went around the thighs and over the hips as part of the bikini bottom. Why she was actually going to follow through with humoring Kit, she wasn't sure. The upcoming field trip would be by a beach, and so maybe her curiosity was heightened to the point that she, too, had to see for herself how she'd look in the contraption.

There were even more strings to the bikini top. This couldn't really be swimwear, Stella thought, guessing as to which slit she was to place her right arm into. No, this had to be some erotic negligee or something; something the girls at the gentleman's club across the street would wear. Kit couldn't have really pulled it off a swimsuit rack.

Getting too tangled up, Stella finally called out, "I can't get the top on. Where did you find this thing?"

Kit could be heard huffing before knocking on the door. "Open up. I'll help."

The dressing room was pretty small. It couldn't even technically be called a room, given that it was more like two standing shades, touching corners. The clothing boutique was independently owned, so its set-up was by no means by department store standards. Curiosity still compelling her more than anything else, Stella guarded herself with the door as she let her friend in.

"Oh, wow, you really are stuck. Put this arm up higher." Kit pushed Stella's elbow closer to her ear, so she could pull an arm out of the wrong opening.

"Oh, ow! Be careful. You got some of my hair in there."

"I got it. I got it." Kit strategically moved the dark strands out of the way. "It's like you got in a fight with a gumball."

It was true. She looked like she got in a fight with gum... and it won. "Why I ever listen to you, I have no clue."

"I'm the yin to your yang."

A string snapped over Stella's head, slapping her skin, stinging her. "Ouch!" Stella yelped and started laughing. Kit followed suit. They laughed the kind where you hunch over, mouth wide open, while nothing comes out. Seeing Stella's reflection in the long, hanging mirror, patched and stringed in weird places, dying of hilarity, made them laugh even harder.

Then Stella heard something that instantly cured her of the giggles. An all-too-familiar voice, speaking to a sales lady. "Yes," he said, "some wax."

Damien's nostrils flared at the smell of the store's burning incense. Trying to ignore its pungent, spicy scent, he kept focused on his objective: getting in and out with some wax in hand ASAP.

He had an especially hard evening last night. He couldn't sleep until dawn. Muscles ached, his skin itched, even his gums throbbed. Then there was the inconvenient desire for flesh between razor-sharp teeth, and KFC was closed. His recent condition still confused him to no end, and he had to find ways to at least live through it inconspicuously, until he could find answers, and maybe then a cure. Preventing his daytime changes from being too apparent was top priority. Transforming full-blown into a hairy beast happened at night-time, and when the moon was its fullest; still the daily side-effects were getting scary enough. Fitting in with the rest of his smooth-skinned beach buddies may soon be a thing of the past, he feared. If that meant he had to resort to women's products in order to stay under the radar, then he was game.

The sales lady escorted him to the back of the room, near the portable fitting rooms. "Against this wall, down here," she said, moving her hand across the options like Vanna White on cat nip, "we have all our depilatory creams as well as various waxing products."

Damien nodded, rubbing his chin. Even his stubble felt rougher than usual.

"May I ask, will this be for someone else? Such as a girlfriend? Or for yourself? Because some of our products are specially made for self-service versus assistance."

Karen Wilson, per the name on her nametag, seemed a little too curious, as an eyebrow arched over her glasses. Damien imagined her with her hair let loose out of the ponytail, glasses off, lying in a sensual pose with an arm up, awaiting him to assist with waxing an armpit. He shook his head, repulsed at what his imagination could think up. "It's self-service," he said, and coughed nervously.

"Oh, then I suggest this one." She handed him a box of wax strips. "Will this be for your chest?" she pried further.

Damien clutched at the chest of his white t-shirt. "Sure. Yeah."

"Well," she slid her glasses down her nose, "chest hair is coming back in style. Lots of ladies like it."

Ahem. He could hardly believe his ears, but it definitely seemed the forty-something-year-old woman was hinting at something.

"Come again," he said.

"It's true." She played with the top button of her shirt. "Maybe you should keep it. I know I like it."

Okay, now he was certain she was flirting. "Ma'am, lady, I-uh," he stumbled over his words. "Karen. Mrs. Wilson, I mean. I'm only seventeen."

A smile played on her lips and she placed a hand to the side of her mouth, as if she were about to whisper. "Eighteen is legal," she said, then pulled a business card out of a pocket. "The second number is my cell. Call me in a few months." She winked before traipsing off.

He stood there a bit in shock. Girls from high school threw themselves at him all the time. That was no big deal. It was routine, even. But he wasn't willing to put himself out there for someone who could be his teacher. Or worse, his mother.

Cougars, he muttered to himself, shaking his head. They actually exist... just like werewolves. And that thought brought with it bitterness. Were all girls the same? Despite even their age? Worse than his bitterness about girls lately, and his natural bitterness over being part-beast, was his bitterness over being bitter. It was a vicious cycle lately.

Just then came a loud clatter. He turned in time to see one of the fitting room shades fall over, revealing two mortified girls, one desperately trying to poke her head through a shirt's armhole, while the other helped push it down. Something resembling a ball of neon yellow yarn wrapped around her bare stomach. What the...? The words, "You okay?" came out faster than he could think. He would have been better off offering them shovels, since certainly they would rather bury themselves alive right there.

He meant to snap his sights away for their privacy, but he just could not. The one with long dark hair was the girl he saw at the pizzeria; he was certain. Suddenly his heart thudded hard against his chest. It was the girl who had asked him out on a date, then went all bi-polar on him, storming out before he could really respond. The girl who both intrigued him and angered him at the same time.

She finished pulling the shirt over her head. Surprise, surprise—another zombie t-shirt. "You can stop staring," she said to him, fixing flyaway hairs caused by the whole episode.

"Hey, I wasn't staring," he said, pointing to her with his box of wax strips. Suddenly embarrassed, he forced his hand down to his side and turned the box around, hoping she didn't see what he was buying.

"What do you call gluing your eyes to my body then?" She swung her hair over a shoulder, and looked at her shorter, purple-haired friend for approval of her remark.

"Fine, I was staring. But not because you were half-naked or whatever. It was because I-I recognized you. And that's all," he said gruffly, now nervously jiggling the box in his hand.

Thankfully, the boutique wasn't busy. And thankfully, that meant no one else was watching their encounter, except for maybe Karen... er, Mrs. Wilson.

Purple-gumdrop-head suddenly spoke up. "Okay, it's my fault. I bumbled, knocking over the fitting room. It's also my fault you body slammed Stella to the ground outside Dough-licious, and that she asked you on a date."

Damien caught the fact that Stella (he finally knew her name) turned red and rigid in response to that confession. "What are you talking about?" he asked, utterly confused.

"Kit," Stella said through clenched teeth, but her friend went on...

"I dared her to ask you out. She never would have even stepped foot into Dough-licious that night, if it weren't for me."

"You mean"—he pointed again with the box of wax strips by accident—"you dared her to ask me out because she was too shy otherwise, right?"

"Gosh no!" The girl shook her head like that was completely ridiculous. "She doesn't like you. She never has. So now that the air has been cleared between you two..."

"Kit, shut up," Stella said.

Damien's eyebrows raised and he stood there even more stunned than he was after Mrs. Wilson hit on him. More stunned than after the fitting room tipped over. He couldn't help but say, "Y-you don't like me?" Self control was pretty much out the window at this point. Pride, too. It was like his entire body was numb, like he was there but not really, and that fact scared him. He never felt that way before.

Stella's face seemed to soften, but she didn't look him in the eyes. "It was a dare. I mean, so what. It's just, you're not my type. And so what. You have plenty of... girlfriends, you know. Who cares." She then looked at her friend. "Let's go."

Mrs. Wilson came over. "I'll clean this little mess up. So sorry this fell over," she said as if it was her doing. She bent over, giving a clear view of her backside.

Damien instead chose to watch the girl who asked him out, but who in fact didn't really want to ask him out, compose herself and leave the store without looking back.

As he helped with setting back up the changing room, a piece of paper on the floor stared up at him, asking to be picked up. He unfolded it and read:

Paranormal Addicts Anonymous

Do you go bat-crazy over vampires? Believe in ghosts? Think werewolves are sexy beasts?

Come to our meetings down at The Shoreline County Grange, every Thursday. 8 P.M.

*

Lying in bed that night, Damien propped the Paranormal Addicts Anonymous flyer on his newly-waxed and red chest. He reread it by the dim light of his nightstand, the same nightstand which displayed a broken-in copy of Stephenie Meyer's New Moon and the 1980's Teen Wolf movies. Thursday would be tomorrow. Eight p.m. is a very risky time to be outside, however. With a heavy sigh he got up and locked his bedroom door, shoved his face against his pillow, and gripped at his mattress, preparing once again for the transformation.

THREE

This was truly the only place where Stella felt completely comfortable in her skin. This also happened to be the place she met Kit and Caleb. Sure, they saw each other around school, but it wasn't until PAA formed that they started hanging out. Dimly lit by strands of Halloween lights in the shape of skulls, the inside of the grange hosted just seven members sitting in a circle of fold-up chairs. Beside them sat a table filled with fiction spotlighting ghosts, vampires, witches and Honey Boo Boo.

Gordon pushed his glasses up on his nose for the twentieth time since the start of their meeting, and went on with such conviction over his favorite subject. "Bigfoot is real, just as much as Nessie. My camera caught him less than twenty miles south of here in the forest by the beach. Check it out."

He passed his camera around for all to see the saved digital image. Kit tilted her head and turned the picture every which way. By Kit's scrunched nose and narrowed eyes, Stella was certain it was a fail. Stella leaned over her friend and peeked at it while Caleb also leaned over, studying it.

A tall blur. It was nothing more than that. It could have been anything really: a baby tree, a bear, a finger in the way of the lens. Stella shook her head at it.

Maggie, a heavyset blonde with an English accent, said, "That's even blurrier than the UFO you supposedly saw last month. It's not Bigfoot, I guarantee."

"It is Bigfoot," he insisted and blushed at confessing, "it's not the clearest photo, I know. But what's most important is what I saw with my own two eyes."

"Maybe your glasses' prescription needs updating," she retorted. "You're always coming here showing us your latest find, and they're all bogus."

"Are not! I swear. What else walks upright like a man and is that hairy?"

"A bear!" another said.

"Bears aren't that ripped. This thing had a muscular body, just like Bigfoot." His expression became intense, his eyes bugging out. "It's got to be him. It's just got to."

Bigfoot. Zombies. Dracula. Did it matter whether Gordon believed he saw him for real or not? Almost every meeting was the same—all the arguments between those who believed versus those who didn't. While Stella was one of the nonbelievers, she chose to stand up for him yet again. "What makes us a group is that we're all obsessed with paranormal creatures and activities," she said. "Some of us find the fun in the fictional aspects, while others believe wholeheartedly these things exist. If Gordon believes he saw Bigfoot, then fine." She turned to him. "I think it's rad."

Gordon smiled and blushed again. "Thanks, Stella. When I go out searching for him again, you're invited. Because I'll go out searching for him again, and then get a better picture. You'll all believe me then."

Stella gave a wry smile. Gordon had a crush on her and she knew it. Chalk him up to another socially-inept boy who drooled over her ways. The fact that Gordon just turned sixteen and already got his driver's license actually put him up a notch in comparison to a couple of the other guys whose mothers dutifully dropped them off.

"Alright then," Maggie conceded. "Stella, you are right. I may be the oldest of this group at nineteen, but this is one reason I believe you were nominated President."

"Thanks, Maggie." Stella formed the group herself, and there was no vote... but whatever. "Let's take our first break. Fifteen minutes."

Stella went straight over to the table of books, while her two best friends continued the conversation with Gordon. Quite a few stories were the same ones she'd seen over and over at the meetings, still circulating. She scooted them aside, and others picked them up.

At the bottom of the stash was a romance starring a werewolf. Maggie surely brought it. Stella shook her head. Another werewolf romance? Really? It was all Jacob Black's fault, she was certain. Ever since he took his shirt off for Bella, and girls screamed with delight in theaters everywhere, werewolf romances were everywhere. Alright, Stella had screamed in excitement too... but internally; there's a difference. So although she was shaking her head and making all sorts of jokes to herself over the book, a part of her couldn't help but flip through the pages to see what it offered.

And, holy cow, it was steamy. And strange. Her eyes went wide. It only solidified her theory that those who were into werewolf romances were the most perverse of all erotica readers. Discreetly, she snatched up the copy for herself.

"What-ja choose?" Kit piped in, appearing at her side as quickly as an apparition.

"Just some lame romance." Stella turned the book around and handled it in such a way as to hide the cover as much as possible.

"Not another zombie book? Thank goodness. I'll be happy when you are completely through with that phase." Kit eyed the table of options with a noncommittal glance.

It was cold out. Stella wrapped her cardigan tighter around her body. She had left her book contribution, Zombie Fallout 2, in Kit's Volkswagen. Escaping from the meeting for a minute would also give time to stash her werewolf romance into the glove compartment. She could return before the break was over, and not have to awkwardly hold the book around for everyone to see.

Dusk painted the sky a strange purple hue. The bright moon was nearly full tonight, spotlighting her every step across the gravelly parking lot surrounded by wild bushes and trees. She approached Kit's lime green beetle with a shiver at the back of her neck; not from the cold, but from a sudden sweeping fear. She paused in her steps, her Doc Martin's crunching the rocks beneath her, and glanced around. A crunch sounded from behind, and she whipped around.

Her mind played a trick on her. A tall man-slash-beast with perfect white teeth stared back at her. Darn Gordon, she thought she saw Bigfoot of all things. "Hi, I didn't mean to scare you," he said.

The thing stepped closer, out of the darkness. His appearance was forming more clearly. No, no beast. Far from it. A tall guy, with dark hair and eyes. His perfectly straight teeth still glistened white. Her heart rapped against her chest. "What are you doing here?" She realized who it was. Damien's muscles were just as beautiful as before, pronounced under another tight T-shirt. It wasn't fair. Her traitorous thoughts needed to keep to themselves.

"I wanted to... come check it out..." He leaned over and picked something up. "Is this yours?" He pulled his find closer to his face to study it with quirked eyebrows.

Stella could feel the heat of her embarrassment flushing her pale cheeks. "None of your business." She grabbed the book from him instantly. Her hands shook as she opened the car door and shoved the thing into the glove compartment.

She turned around to face him again, her hands still quivering. She balled them into fists at her side. "I hate being snuck up on. Why are you here?"

"Like I said. I wanted to check out the meeting."

"How did you know there was a meeting?"

He scratched the back of his neck. "I may or may not have found it in the heap of what used to be a dressing room last night."

"You know," she stood there, still tense as all get-out, "you are definitely making a habit of seeing me in my most embarrassing moments."

He smiled at her. It was the first time she saw him smile since the night he leaned over the counter at Dough-licious, taking her order. But this smile was different. Mockery maybe? "Is it really my fault?" he asked.

Good question. "Well, tonight is. This is my domain. You aren't supposed to be here. You weren't supposed to see that–that book, which is totally not mine."

"Yeah, whose is it?" He smirked.

"Caleb's." She said the first name that came to mind.

His lips parted into another smile, and he let out a laugh. "Am I supposed to believe that?"

"Sure." She nodded unconvincingly. "No, I guess you weren't. Just tell me what you're doing here."

Damien paused. There was something different about his brown eyes. They were intense, like he was holding back a major secret. Rather than revealing anything remarkable, he said, "I told you. I just wanted to check out the meeting."

"You are a paranormal addict?" Stella questioned. It was hard spitting out those words, since they screamed contradiction to being a surfer-slash-all-around-jock.

"I have a confession to make." He said his words slowly and thoughtfully.

"Okay?"

"I read New Moon within three hours of picking it up."

"New Moon?" Reading? Finished in just three hours? It took Stella five days to finish that book. Three hours? "You're kidding, right?"

"I wish I were," he said seriously.

"Damien Cappernalli, paranormal addict," she said aloud. "Does not make sense whatsoever."

"Why not? You know my name, but you don't know me."

She laughed at that. Oh, she knows popular guys. They're all basic carbon-copies of each other. His eyebrows went up as if waiting for her to continue with her analysis.

"I don't need to explain," she said. With that, she turned back toward the grange and sped up her steps to make it inside before him. Had she entered a parallel universe? Just what was he up to? All she knew was no matter what the true explanation would be, she wouldn't like it. Damien was supposed to stay in his separate world from hers.

Maggie, on the other hand, was pleased with the new addition to the group, sitting right beside the beefcake. "Please, introduce yourself to everyone else, Damien."

They were back to their circle formation. He stood up and confidently put his hands in his jeans' pockets. "Okay. Hello, everyone."

Kit looked at Stella out of the corner of her eye for the seemingly hundredth time. Stella ignored Kit, just as she had done the ninety-nine times before.

"My name is Damien, and I am a paranormal addict."

"Hello, Damien," all said but Stella. Maggie added, "It is important to know we aren't like other addicts anonymous meetings. We won't try to cure you of your obsession. We will support you in it."

"Okay," he said. "Well, my monster of choice is the werewolf, and I would like to learn as much about them as possible. So this sounds... perfect."

Stella felt his eyes on her as she looked down to the concrete floor. Of all the books she had to choose from tonight, she just had to grab the werewolf one. Or was he just saying he liked werewolves to tease her? Maybe he came tonight to get revenge for the big dare gone horribly wrong. Stella suddenly looked up, compelled to say, "I like zombies." And so she did.

Everyone turned to her, some surprised more than others over her interruption.

"Dead things," she said. "Er, Undead things. With decrepit flesh." Shut up, she told herself. "I can't get enough of them." That just came out sounding like she had a creepy attraction to them.

"Good idea," Maggie said happily in her accent. "How about everyone goes around the circle and re-announces what their particular addiction is, so that our newest member can get to know us better. I have been a ghost hunter ever since staying as a child with my great grandmother in her haunted cottage in England. So, as the Ghostbusters would say, 'I ain't afraid of no ghosts.'"

Stella's most comfortable place to be in all the world was quickly taken down, down, down to the innermost depths of discomfort. She had to consciously force her clenched hands to loosen in her lap the rest of the evening. Although she was President of PAA, she knew she couldn't kick Damien out of their little circle unless she received a majority vote from the members. Seeing as how Maggie and the others were intrigued by the new unconventional member, she swallowed her pride.

"Don't forget," Maggie said all bubbly as the Social Networking Coordinator, "our first annual field trip is coming up!" She passed out the neon green flyers. "Hope to see you all there soon."

Damien took his invite gladly. Dag-freaking-nabbit.

FOUR

Damien inspected his chest in his bathroom mirror. The redness was gone but the hairs were growing back. He couldn't wax every night; bear that extra pain if it would just grow right back.

A cell phone vibrated on the counter, and he picked it up. Another text from Tyler asking what's up and if he'll be by the beach again anytime soon to surf. It would remain without a response, for now.

Instead, he turned on the sink and splashed cold water on his face a couple times before staring at his tired reflection. His tongue traced each tooth. It was unfathomable how they could retract back up into his gums to let pointy ones descend almost every night. No wonder Anbesol was one of his new best friends. He opened the cap to the tube of medicine, squeezed a liberal amount onto a finger and rubbed his gums for a good few minutes. Felt good.

How did he get in this situation? And how could he get out? The books he read and the information Maggie so generously offered for more than a half hour after Paranormal Addicts Anonymous just added to the confusion. What was fact versus fiction on the matter? Was he born this way, as part of his Italian heritage? Too absurd. Did he get an infectious bite by a wolf? Yeah right. He would remember something like that happening, so no. Was he supposed to find his pack or be a loner on the prowl? And what the heck was all that imprinting nonsense? He sure hoped he wouldn't fall in love with a one-month-old.

Imprinting, he wondered. Could he have imprinted on that Goth girl, now known as Stella, AKA President of the PAA? Is that why his heart did weird things when he was around her? But she's so moody and klutzy. It would be crazy of him to fall for her. Besides, he was pretty sure she was this close to hating him. He saw how her knuckles turned white when her hands fisted at the sight of him actually entering her meeting and introducing himself as a new member.

The book Stella dropped at the grange's parking lot flashed through his mind. A werewolf romance. He was certain it was rated M for mature, just like most of his video games. He smirked and rubbed his chin at the memory. Maybe this Stella chick could be into him, beast and all, and she was just a hard nut to crack. They could live as recluses together in a castle as dancing candelabras sang around them "Be Our Guest." She sorta resembled that Belle cartoon chick. Big eyes. Long hair. A bit on the skinny side. He could make some mean stacks of pancakes and eggs, so no problem there in the long run.

"Dude," he said to his reflection, "what are you thinking? She doesn't like you." He wiped his wet face with a fluffy white towel, then threw it around his broad shoulders on his way out of the bathroom. "She doesn't like you," he said again with a shake of his head and a laugh of irony.

*

When Stella was a little girl, she dreamed of weddings just like every other little girl. The fairytale love story—dressed in all white, escorted by the most dreamy man in the world, who would of course resemble Eric off The Little Mermaid. That bubble burst when high school came. Now she wondered if she would ever marry. Sure she was only sixteen, so that's a young age to define her life, but that's what girls do. Define their lives. Especially at sixteen. Nowadays the fantasies about marriage never came. The future was dark, cloudy and drippy, and her conscience, like an annoyingly cheerful weather forecaster, had to constantly remind her "Better get those knickers on, because—brrrr!—it's going to be a chilly one."

And the fact that she had a werewolf romance clutched in her hands under her covers with a book light that came free with her mom's Snuggie, meant she was at the end of her pathetic rope.

Normal guys couldn't do it for her anymore? What if her mom saw what she was reading? "Horrifying," would be the only word to describe the situation. And she knew her mother would be right to be so upset. Her daughter no longer resembled other normal daughters. Daughters who went off to soccer practice, not Paranormal Addicts Anonymous.

A sudden scratching at the window caused her nerves to nearly jump out of her skin. What was Kit doing here without a phone call first? And at such a crazy hour? Stella dumped her book into her end table's drawer as quickly as possible and sat up in bed. The window was quickly scooted open, only the person was not Kit.

"Billy?" Stella's breath caught. How did he find her? Her hands desperately clutched at her sheet, wishing she could disappear.

"Hello, my love," he purred, and appeared over her in bed, so fast it was unreal. His light curly hair was without a strand out of place. His gray eyes deep and intoxicating. An icy finger trailed her cheek and she quivered at the feeling. Not out of pleasure, but horror.

"W-why are you here?"

"Because we're meant to be together forever, Stella. I couldn't spend another day without you. When you moved away, without a trace, I nearly killed myself. I thought I had lost you forever."

"Get out of here. Now." Her shoulders and back tensed up so much it hurt.

His head tilted and he studied her face. "What happened? We were in love once. You loved me." He brushed a cold thumb over her mouth.

"That was before."

"Before what?" He took a handful of her hair and sniffed it deeply.

She didn't respond. Why should she have to? He already knew all her thoughts on the matter.

"I'm sorry I wasn't up front with you about my age. But if I told you, you wouldn't have believed me." His face dropped like a whimpering puppy. "I love you, Stella."

"You told me you were seventeen," she choked out, and tried pushing him away, but he stayed, solid like a statue. A cold, hard statue.

"I'm sorry," he simply said, as if that would just fix everything. His lips dropped closer to hers. Stella squeezed her eyes shut and tried to move out of the way, but he grabbed her face and planted one on her, deep and hard. It was like kissing a popsicle. How she ever fell for him in the first place was a total mystery now.

When he released her, she gasped for air, as if she had just gone under water for way too long. "Out now," she said. "Out now, or else. Or else I'll scream, and my mother will be in here with her shotgun in less than 2.5 seconds."

Billy's nostrils flared. "I'll never give up, Stella."

FIVE

There couldn't have been a more perfect time scheduled for Stella's PAA field trip. The following morning, the jitters were still fingering up and down her body over Billy's intrusion. She needed time away to think about what to do. Her gut told her he wasn't going to just—poof—go away just because she told him to. She had told him time and time again to leave her alone, and it didn't work. So, getting ready for her trip was honestly just a blur; running her brush through her hair just once and throwing on the first clothes her eyes caught sight of.

"What are you wearing?" Kit asked. She leaned against her lime green Beetle, eyeing Stella coming out of the house.

Stella looked down to the pink leotard and matching tutu. It felt really, really tight. She dropped her duffel bag and suitcase on the porch. "How did I get this on?" Being a ballerina used to be another one of her dreams, but she was the worst dancer in class and soon dropped out, much to her mother's disappointment. Freshman year sure had been tough.

"Come on, Tinker Bell! We don't want to be late." Kit rushed to the porch and grabbed the bag. "I didn't know it was Halloween," she added.

"It's not. I don't know why I'm wearing this. But, hey, I didn't know you were coming. Don't you and Caleb have to make it to Comic-Con?" She pulled the wedgie out and followed her friend. It was a good thing she wasn't going to ride the bus to PAA's carpool meet-up like this.

"Comic-Con comes around every year, so I changed plans." Kit opened the back door and Stella threw her suitcase in, hitting something unexpected.

"Ouch! Careful," Caleb said, recoiled against his window. "I think you broke one of my ribs."

"Oops, sorry." Stella's eyes went wide. "Didn't see you there."

Kit pulled the suitcase back out. "This will go in the trunk. I'm just setting the duffel bag here. You got shotgun."

Despite Stella's discomfort over her choice in clothing, she was happy to be driving off to Astoria with her friends. So happy, in fact, it made her temporarily forget Damien would also be there.

*

Cindi Lauper's little-girlish voice blared from Kit's car stereo, singing "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun." Stella sang right along with her two best friends. Yes, Caleb was into the song just as much, if not more than they were, making silly facial expressions and movements from the backseat.

It was the perfect song, really, seeing as how they were driving up a winding road to the house where one of the coolest movies, The Goonies, was filmed—a pit stop Caleb insisted everyone check out on their way down south. Nobody had complaints.

Once they pulled up to the old two-story home with a wrap-around porch, Caleb hopped out to the front yard and pulled up his shirt. "Truffle Shuffle!" he called out and shook up his stomach. Caleb was anything but fat. His skinny jeans could barely stay up, even with the assistance of a belt. His beef jerky addiction did nothing. Soon Gordon and Maggie were out of their cars, taking pictures of each other truffle shuffling to post to Facebook.

Stella's green eyes searched for Damien. He wasn't at the meet-up and he didn't make it to their pit stop. It appeared he wasn't going to show after all. Last night was definitely his way of getting back at her. He was surely home with his friends, heading to the beach on this sunnier Saturday, not giving one more thought to her.

*

Damien finally woke up around noon. He stretched his arms over his head and glanced at the clock. Noon? The flyer said they were meeting at the grange and leaving by eight-thirty. "Great," he groaned. Oh well, it wasn't the end of the world. He would just start heading down there as soon as he was ready and had a big lunch.

As he showered, he wondered if he really even needed to go on the trip. Not only was he certain Stella would hate him more if he went, but would more time with the group really make a difference? And then there were other thoughts about Stella nagging at him. She actually looked kinda cute when she pretended the werewolf romance wasn't her book, and that made him wonder what she would look like happy. He imagined tickling her and wrestling around with her on the floor. She'd throw back her head in a fit of giggles; her smile, wide and pretty. No more sad eyes.

He squirted shampoo into his hands and rubbed it through his hair. As he rubbed, he felt the length of his strands against his neck. Definitely longer than usual. He turned the steaming hot water off, and stepped out, grabbing a towel and wiping it around his waist. Clearing the fog off the mirror with a washcloth, he turned and took a look at the back of his head. Scissors were just in the medicine cabinet, so he got to work hacking off the two inches that had appeared. As he sat on the counter, his eyes were taken to a strange tattoo on his lower back. What the...? It was a symbol of some sort. He scratched at it just in case. Was he seeing things? The symbol stayed there, but now it had nail marks through it. It was real.

A tramp stamp!

Why couldn't it at least be something cool, like his mother's name in a heart... and on his bicep? Was he blacking out with his new condition? Had he wandered into a tattoo shop last night? Things were getting worse fast. More changes during the day—he tossed a clump of his dark brown hair into the trash—and more problems at night. Maybe going on the field trip wouldn't be a good idea after all. He growled in irritation.

Damien rifled through his desk until he found a camera. He took a few pictures as best as he could of the tattoo, then uploaded it to his computer. He had to at least find out what it meant. What, of all the symbols on earth, had he chosen to mark his back with for forever?

Sitting down, with still just a bath towel around his waist, he drummed his desk, eyeing his computer screen, waiting for Google image results to enlighten him. When he saw the thousands of results pop up, he shook his head over and over. He had seen that symbol before, practically anyone who wasn't living under a rock would have seen it before. But it couldn't be this. No way.

SIX

Maggie dramatically pressed together her thick fingers and took a deep breath before explaining, "This bed and breakfast, formerly known as Lady Shoemaker's home, is rated one of the nation's top five locations for paranormal activity."

It was dusk. They finally arrived. Stella and the rest of the gang were eager to go inside and take a gander. They had reserved the location all to themselves more than six months ago, when their group was still a baby. Maggie had planned on giving them all an introduction speech, so they each politely fidgeted or stood there frozen in anticipation as she went on. "During the day," Maggie said, "it looks as pleasant as your grandmother's home. At night, those old wooden slabs for walls are said to moan and creak more than the ghosts that walk its halls. Its pink siding turns to blood red, and the quaint porch becomes a shadowy lair for the undead."

Stella felt a chill go up and down her arms, and she glanced down to the goose bumps that prickled up each of her little hairs. For the first time ever her body protested her disbelief in the undead. As Maggie went on, the chills wouldn't leave either. To Stella's left, Kit was chewing gum with her arms crossed, seeming slightly amused, yet unconvinced. To her right, Caleb mirrored Maggie's cartoon-eyed expression of terror. Then there was Gordon, who looked excited to enter, clutching some sort of gadget with an antenna that could poke your eye out five feet away.

"Now, who's ready for some fun?" Maggie finished.

Everyone spurted out excited exclamations, before she interrupted. "Oh, wait. I should have asked if our president has anything she would like to say. Stella?"

Stella rubbed her arms one more time, and said, "Nope. I'm good."

Just then the front door creaked open and an old woman in an even older dress stood there, her silver hair in a bun. Stella thought her resemblance to the lady in the famous painting of a couple with pitchforks was uncanny. "You the kids who reserved the place?" she asked.

"Yes," Maggie said. "How do you do? Are you the owner?" She stepped onto the porch.

"Yes." She was expressionless. "Well, come on in. I've already got dinner ready for you all, hot off the stove, and fresh out of the oven."

*

Once Stella was in her room, shared with Kit, fun was the last thing on her mind. For the first time, she questioned their field trip, whether it was a good idea or not. Besides Maggie's bone-chilling intro, the haggy owner creeped her out.

"This is going to be awesome," Kit said, dumping her suitcase into a closet that let out a smell like mothballs.

"Yeah," Stella said under her breath. She opened her duffel bag on the bed decorated with a patchwork quilt, and pulled out a cardigan to wrap over her vintage tee.

"Why are you wearing a sweater?" Kit asked.

"It's kind of cold out."

Kit wore a tank top and had her hands on her hips. "Hm, I thought it was warm, a bit muggy even. When do you want to head to the beach? First thing in the morning? Crack of dawn?"

That was something else off Stella's radar. The beach. "How about we just go with the flow. Plus, I think Maggie might have other plans."

"Okay, well, what do you think is for dinner?"

Stella hadn't detected any smell from the small kitchen or dining area. "I don't know. As long as it's not poisoned, I'm happy..."

"What?" Kit came and stood right in front of Stella, eyeing her. "What's up, pooky? Aren't you excited?"

"I am. I mean, I was. I just need to relax from the drive, I guess. Seven hours is a long time cooped up, you know." Stella wasn't even going to confess to her best friend that her first impression of their destination was this horrible. Maybe she was still feeling chills from last night. That would be another thing kept under wraps. Kit knew about the strange ex-boyfriend, but nothing near what happened to Stella last night.

"At least Damien's not here," Kit said. "That would have been so super awkward."

And then there was that, too. Yes, at least he wasn't there.

*

At dinner, everyone fit around the oval-shaped table, a home-cooked meal waiting in the center: chicken and dumplings, cream corn and beets, with garlic mashed potatoes. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except for Gordon's gadget which sat right next to his place mat, and a little red light blinking from its corner.

"What's that?" Caleb asked around a mouth of potatoes, pointing at the thingamajig.

"It's my scanner. It detects paranormal activity, whether it be from ghosts or Bigfoot or whatever." Gordon emphasized Bigfoot.

Caleb touched the antennae and it made a zapping sound.

"Hey, hey. Be careful." Gordon pulled the scanner away. "We don't want to break it."

Maggie nodded, this time without any cynicism in her expression toward the geek. "Yeah, those things cost hundreds of dollars. I'm surprised you have one. I asked my mum for one for Christmas, but she instead got me PJs and a breast reduction. It should be loads of fun tonight, seeing what happens."

"Dessert?" The elderly owner appeared moments later, bringing a deep dish of what looked like peach cobbler.

"Yes, please!" Caleb grabbed his spoon, and others followed his lead, taking heapfuls, but Stella couldn't take one more bite.

The woman stayed watching them, and Stella snuck a few glances in her direction, trying to figure out what her deal was, and why she worked alone. Wasn't she afraid of some nut staying at her place? Stella trusted her group, but that didn't mean she thought the rest of the paranormal-loving community out there could be trusted. Maybe she's not afraid, because she is the nut, crossed her mind.

"Now is time for me to give the rules. There are only two," Mrs. Partridge said, looking at no one in particular. Everyone turned to her, ready. "Rule number one—don't stay up past midnight. I'm a light sleeper, and that isn't very nice. Rule number two—my bedroom is off-limits. If you dare to enter at any time, whether I am in there or not, then I will not be very nice."

The last warning, although mild, cut through the atmosphere like a knife.

*

Damien drove for hours straight through a rainstorm without even taking a bathroom or food break. He didn't care anymore that he was late or that the trip may not help him after all. His Uncle Leo always said if he never tried, then he'd never know.

And he had to know about this.

It's not like packs of teen wolves hung out at the local pool hall for him to interview. PAA was his only real outlet he knew to personally turn to. The trip would offer him the chance to get to know others in the group, and maybe, just maybe, one of them would have a clue as to how to help. So far, the only information he found on eradicating the problem was silver bullets, but at the same time that would kill him.

Suicide was not the answer. Never the answer.

He'd find a way to get out of his problem, if it took a lifetime. But, in the meantime, he was speeding down the long and windy Oregon coast into California, taking first things first—thinking just about tonight.

When he approached the little bed and breakfast, he turned his lights and ignition off and just sat there. 12:32 a.m., his waterproof watch said over a very hairy wrist. Way too late to be knocking on the door.

He squinted his eyes, but didn't see any lights on or movement within. A few cars were parked in the drive, one being the green Beetle he recognized from when he had bumped into Stella at the grange's parking lot. Everyone was apparently there, but in bed. Even if everyone was awake, he couldn't knock on the door, unless he wanted to be Tasered by Gordon, the little Bigfoot hunter.

He adjusted his review mirror to look at his face. Short dark brown hair grew from every pore, leaving his eyes as the only evidence to his manhood. Sharp fangs grew over his bottom lip and the hair on his head was longer and silkier, framing it all. He could definitely pass for Han Solo's wingman. For the heck of it, he attempted to lightly roar like the Star Wars character.

Damien sighed heavily and rested his head on the steering wheel. When he looked back up, he was sure he saw someone move across the shadowy porch. He quietly rolled his window down a notch and took a whiff of the air. The woods, the ocean, his jeep's exhaust—these scents meshed together, overwhelming others. He stayed there about fifteen more minutes, before he decided his mind had played tricks on him. There was just one other place he could think of to spend the night.

Roaring waves crashed down to the bubbling surf. Damien took the right moment to run out and paddle his red surfboard. It had been way too long since he had last surfed. The night was warm and the sky clear. No one else was on the beach. The water welcomed him like an old friend, splashing cool water over his fur. He rode out a few smaller waves, taking time to swim his board out further into the sea. He could see the swell of a big wave forming, and balanced himself with his right foot in front of his left, a strap around his ankle to the board. Sea-salt water waved around him as a sparkling turquoise tunnel. He reached out, feeling its wall spray through his fingers at high speed. Never had he experienced such great balance and strength, or such amazing waves. When he came out, he rode the top of the next high wave with an exuberant "Owoooo!"

SEVEN

"Did you hear that?" Kit rolled over and tugged on Stella's shoulder.

Stella couldn't sleep, so she did hear it. "Yes. A howl?"

"Yeah, there're some wolves that live around here. Actually, since we are here in the middle of nowhere, deep within trees, there's probably all sorts of wild animals, like bears, snakes, maybe even bobcats. Do you think we'll see any while we're here?"

This wasn't helping her feel any better. "I hope not. Just remind me to not go outside when it's dark."

"Hey, you aren't acting like your usual self. I'm talking to your shoulder for Pete's sake. Roll over, so we can really talk. We haven't discussed anything. No gossip about Maggie... or-or-or Mrs. Partridge. Or Damien."

Now Stella rolled over and cocked an eyebrow. "Damien?"

"Yeah, I totally don't know why I just said his name, but I need you to talk about something with me. I wished Gordon's scanner at least beeped once tonight, didn't you? I mean, I'm kind of like you—I don't believe in all this stuff—but I sort of do, you know?"

Stella smiled. "I haven't heard any ghosts walking the halls or creaking the walls."

"You noticed that, too?" Kit propped an elbow against the bed and rested her head on her hand. "Tomorrow should be lots of fun. Saturday is our first full day here."

"Yeah, I'm excited."

They talked for the next couple hours. Or rather, Kit rambled and Stella gave an appropriate yeah or uh huh here and there, until sleep finally came. Only her dreams wouldn't let her rest...

~~~

"Come on, Billy. We're just not right for each other." Stella crossed her arms and glanced over her shoulder at her school. She just wanted to walk back to class. She just wanted a normal life with normal relationships that other sixteen-year-old girls had.

"But I don't believe you mean that. I don't believe you want this to be over." He showed her the bottom of a wrist. There was a tattoo of a heart with her name. "I got this last night for you, to show you how much I am devoted to you." He clenched his hand into a tight fist and the heart bulged. He did that over and over, and said, "Look at that. It's beating for you."

"That's really... strange." She looked back to his sculpted face. How shallow she had been. Looks obviously weren't everything.

"Are you still having a hard time coping with... with what I do? Because, with time, it might not seem so bad. And I'll never ask you to join me. I would never want you to join me."

Stella felt like throwing up. Yeah, no way would that ever happen. "I could never do what you do."

"Well, that's fine, Stella. Be who you want to be. I'll support you. You know I'm not like other guys. I don't expect you to just give up your dreams to be with me. And from the beginning, I've mostly been in love with you for your brains."

"The age difference is something else, Billy. You lied about everything. Everything that I thought you were, you're not."

"Yes, I know I am a lot older than you. That is something else that won't feel bad with time."

Stella didn't respond. She just glanced back over her shoulder to her school again. How could she make it any more clear that she really was breaking up with him? He stayed there, staring at her, waiting. His head finally dropped into a hand. Was he crying? When he looked back up, there was no redness to his eyes, no tears. His eyes then fixed on her hands. "Why are you wearing black fingernail polish?"

What kind of a question was that? Her eyebrows furrowed, and she said, "I wanted to. I like it."

"You like black fingernail polish?" His nose twitched in disgust. "It looks like you have a fungus problem. It makes me want to take you to a doctor or something."

"Well, I think it's cool. Yet, another thing we don't have in common." She was pleased with her comeback.

"Your favorite color is pink. Pink is a nice, healthy-looking color for nails. I can pick up some polish remover for you at Walgreens, and a pretty bottle of pink nail polish. Tonight I'll swing by your place with it, okay, my love? And we can talk more then."

"That's not necessary. We're over, Billy. ...And I have to get to class now, or I'll be late." She rigidly pointed.

"Forget about the nail polish." His eyebrows raised, and he gestured as if he were afraid of what he had said. As if that was the deal-breaker. "Just tell me your favorite color rose."

She shook her head and turned away from him, starting back toward science class. One foot in front of the other. Further and further away. After nearly reaching her destination, she heard a call from afar, "What color rose, Stella?!"

Frustrated with his attempts, she turned around and yelled, "Black!"

~~~

EIGHT

Thud-thud-thud! The rapid knock at the bedroom door felt more like a jackhammer to the head. Stella opened her eyes to a blurry world. "Rise and shine!" Caleb's muffled voice called. "Time for an ab-para-normal day!"

Vision became clearer. She could see Kit open the door to Caleb, completely dressed and ready for the day. "You could have let her sleep some more," Kit said.

"Sleep in? On the first day of the field trip she coordinated? Psha! No." He came over to Stella's bedside in his skinny jeans, and wiped a hand through his floppy hairdo. "Stella, you would regret it if I let you miss another minute of this trip."

That made her smile. "Thanks for being my rooster."

He sat on her bed, and proceeded to explain all the possible activities the others had already discussed during breakfast. Apparently it was past eleven. As he talked, his hands moved in quick motions. Always so dramatic. She smiled again, and her eyes caught on his chipped black nail polish. It felt good to have such good friends to wake her from a funk.

Everyone was waiting by the front door by the time Stella finally got out of the bathroom. She blinked a few times at herself in a hallway mirror and forced a smile, actually feeling better by it. "So, what's the plan?" she asked them.

Maggie spoke up first, of course. "We're going to go take a hike through the woods, tracking footprints. Four of us heard howls last night, and think it could be a werewolf."

"A werewolf?" Stella repeated. That hadn't even crossed her mind, even after almost finishing her romance before the trip.

Gordon nodded enthusiastically. "Plus Bigfoot has been known to howl, so it could be him."

Maggie rolled her eyes to that. "Gawl, Gordon. There is only one Bigfoot, right? Well, by what you believe anyway, right?"

"Yeah, so...?"

"So, you think he hopped a train or something and just happened to travel to the same bed and breakfast locale we're staying at? As if that is feasible or something?"

He shrugged, looking deflated. "I guess it's not really feasible."

"Alright, then," Maggie turned the doorknob to exit, "let's go find werewolves."

*

They walked for three miles, before Maggie hunched over and grabbed her knees from over-exertion. "Woo! I am... tired. Anybody bring a water bottle with them?"

Caleb flung his backpack off a shoulder, unzipped it and tossed her a Mountain Dew.

"Okay, I'll take it." Maggie accepted, gulping it down, some dribbling down her chin.

"Wait, what's that?" Kit pointed next to a large rock.

Everyone's sights left exhausted and sweaty Maggie to check it out. Stella's eyebrows went up at the peculiarity of it. A definite footprint. Large, with nail marks. "There's another." She pointed past it.

"Well, Gordon," Maggie said. "What are you waiting for? Turn on the scanner and hover over it. See if it senses anything."

As Gordon flicked his machine's switch, Caleb shot some photos. With everyone hunched over, watching the scanner with expectant eyes, it was a big let down when no sounds went off. He flicked the switch a couple more times with the same results. Nothing.

"That's it then," Maggie said. "Either the animal isn't paranormal or Gordon's machine is broken."

"It's not broken," he said.

"Where'd you buy it?" Caleb asked.

"I didn't buy it. I made it. I got the pieces and built it."

"Well, that explains it," Maggie said.

"What are you talking about? My IQ score rates me as a genius. I build computers in my bedroom. I am a solid-state laser enthusiast. George Lucas gave me a personal invitation to his ranch."

Maggie looked at her nails as if bored.

Red-faced, Gordon pushed up his glasses and said, "I'm the first teenager who has been in space!"

"Monkeys have gone to space, so..." Maggie went to chug the rest of her Mountain Dew, but Gordon whapped the bottle, spilling the rest of it down her chest.

"What was that about?" Blustered, she turned to the rest and asked, "May I have permission to snap him in two?"

Gordon put his hands and a foot up in a grasshopper pose. "Black belt in Karate. Try me!"

"Guys, guys!" Kit said, and Caleb and the others tried mellowing them out.

Stella raised her voice above the rest. This couldn't really be happening. "Do not do this!"

Everyone stopped and looked at her.

She finished, "Do not act like this. Not here. Not now. Don't ruin it for me. I am already having a hard time on this trip."

Kit's expression lit up like it made sense. "I knew something was wrong." She turned to the others, defensive. "You heard her. Everyone needs to shut up and get along. What's wrong, Stella?"

Oh no, Stella knew she started it, but when cornered, she felt more like retreating than opening up. Someday she may tell Kit. If she did, it certainly wouldn't be in front of the PAA in the middle of the woods, with Maggie around, or whomever. Instead of answering, she wiped her hair behind her ears and said, "It's fine. Let's just, like, head to the beach."

*

Stella found it funny how when Gordon brought out a metal detector for the beach, everyone suddenly perked up again. All, including Maggie, followed him around like a bunch of puppies squeeing over anything that beeped, even if it most likely was another bottle cap.

Stella broke away from the group, without any of them even noticing, and just walked her bare feet along the wet shore, feeling the surf wrap around her ankles. It was pretty nice. After walking for quite a ways, she turned toward the ocean and just looked out to its vastness, with her sunglasses on. It was awe-inspiring, yet at the same time reminded her how fragile she was. One girl in a big, big world, vulnerable to forces outside her control. It made her think of Billy, and she hated how he could assault her thoughts, ruin a moment like this.

When she turned back to face the beach, she saw something red peeking up over a cluster of large rocks. Curious, she went toward it. It was a surf board, and it reflected sunlight, making her squint. She carefully walked up and around the rocks to the other side to get a full view. Something else instantly caught her attention. The surfboard was just a surfboard. Faced down on the ground, though, was a guy.

He didn't move, but neither did Stella, as her hands were over her mouth in surprise over her discovery. His muscular, tanned and sand-sprinkled back moved with breaths. Dark hair was in a sea-swept, sexy mess. She didn't see a face, as his head rested in the other direction. But, holy hotness, he was fine.

She stepped closer, keeping her hands to her face, and her thoughts on math—she was trying to guess how many inches across his muscular shoulders were from one end to the other. Stella, she warned, you've learned your lesson. You do not drool over guys just for their looks. Still, she came closer, and stood over him to properly inspect.

Yellow board shorts hung low on his waist, showing off a tattoo that not only caught her attention but her breath. Alright, this was permission. This was definitely permission to get giddy at first sight. She couldn't believe she stumbled upon a guy who not only looked like a god sunbathing, but was a fan of her favorite band ever.

NINE

Damien opened his eyes, squinting at the sunlight through his bangs. The sand was warm on his skin, but, man, he ached all over. How long had he surfed? He never remembered it being so amazing. He rolled himself over into a stretch, and was surprised to see Stella standing beside him. She was obviously surprised too, looking like she was about to run off. "Hey," he said before she had the chance to.

"It's-it's you." She gulped, and left her mouth open like she was going to say something more but didn't.

"Yeah, I made it. I'm here." He leaned back on his elbows, feeling every muscle scream like they were repairing after a major bench-pressing session. "Ahhh," he moaned and winced.

"You're hurt," she said. "Your shoulder."

He looked down and saw the scratches from being taken under the water and slammed against some rocks. It didn't look so bad. "It's just a scrape," he said. "The water was so amazing last night."

"You spent the night out here?"

"Yeah, I pulled in after midnight, so it was an easy choice." Could this be the start of their first normal conversation? He liked it and wanted to continue things without screwing up again. Plus Stella was wearing a swimsuit and looking better than ever. It was a modest one-piece, but actually made her look sexier than the girls back home flaunting themselves in bikinis. He made a conscious effort to keep his eyes on the up-and-up, looking to her face in spite of his urges.

"What have you all done here so far?" he asked.

She rubbed at an arm and looked far off, before answering, "Not much really. You haven't missed anything." Although Damien knew he was doing a good job at keeping his eyes where they should be, Stella was obviously having trouble. It made him think of the night she came into his uncle's pizzeria and wrapped her eyes around his bicep.

Feeling more confident, he smiled and looked down at his chest. Uh oh, he had forgotten about those. Chest hairs. His chest wasn't as hairy as Austin Powers', but still, it was embarrassing. Stella was probably repulsed. "Um, about that..."

"What?"

"My chest hair."

"Did I say anything?" Stella blinked a few times.

Damien finished, "I've just been having growth spurts lately."

Her eyes scanned his entire body this time. "I could tell. I mean, you're just a lot stronger than other guys your age. What I mean to say is... never mind. This is getting embarrassing again, and my friends are just back around there, and I should head back."

Smooth move, he scolded himself, and stood up. "Stella..." He had to just say something, anything, to repair whatever had been going on between them. "I want this trip to be fun for you. This is your thing, and I've kind of intruded on that."

Bingo, that got her attention. She stood there, listening.

"The truth is that I really do want to learn as much as I can about werewolves. I can keep my distance from you, if it helps. I don't want this to be any more awkward for you, but I do want to talk with your group, hang out and just learn and be. Is... that alright with you...? I hope?"

Her expression softened, and she bit at her lip a moment, thoughtfully nodding. "It's... okay, Damien. If you're a fan of the Deathheads, you can't be too bad."

He raised his brows. So they had turned a corner. This was good. Really good. But now wouldn't be the time, if ever, to admit the tattoo was a mistake.

Stella's expression suddenly switched to worry. She pointed next to him, at a trail of big footprints, eroded a bit from the surf. "Those are the same prints we saw in the woods up there. A wolf. It looks like he came right up to you when you slept."

"Oh yeah?" Damien said, eyeing them. Of course he knew they were his own footprints as a werewolf. "It looks like I'm okay," he said to lighten the mood. He didn't remember roaming around the wooded areas, just the beach, so that tidbit was strange. More blacking out?

Stella crossed her arms tight over her stomach. "That's... really scary. Be careful."

*

Back at the bed and breakfast for a late lunch, Mrs. Partridge wasn't seen or heard from. Stella found a note on the kitchen's swinging door, and read it aloud: "Won't be back until late tonight. Use the kitchen all you want, but remember my room is off limits!"

Damien was taking a shower. Everyone else was standing around not knowing what to do with themselves.

"Isn't she supposed to cook every night? That was what it said in our booking contract!" Maggie slumped onto a chair in the flowery formal room. "How could she just leave us here, a bunch of teenagers to fend for ourselves. Unless she has some Lucky Charms or frozen burritos, we are doomed."

Caleb rummaged through his pockets and said, "I have half a beef jerky stick, and a couple Tic Tacs."

"Beef jerky, please." Maggie put out a hand.

Kit came right over to Stella and said with a low, sarcastic tone, "So he made it here. Yay..."

Stella cocked an eyebrow and started for their bedroom. "Come with me," she said.

Once in the privacy of their room, Stella changed out of her swimsuit and into some normal clothes right away. Buttoning her jeans, she said, "Did you see Damien's tattoo?"

"Yeah, I did. I mean, how can you miss it? It is, like, right there, on his lower back. He must be obsessed with the same band you are, to have their logo permanently inked into his skin."

"I know, isn't that strange?" Stella's eyes widened.

"Yes, that is very, very strange. It's so not what I expected to see from him."

Stella took her brush off the dresser and combed through her long strands in thought. "Me neither. I also didn't expect him to be a paranormal addict, but he told me that he really is here to learn more about werewolves. He seemed really sincere about it. Damien Capernalli is a paranormal addict and Deathheads fanatic. I wonder what other little tidbits I can learn about him."

"Oh my gosh, what is happening? He is a player, and that's all you need to know." Kit put her hands up. "What is happening? Tell me now. I have to know. You like Damien?"

No..., things hadn't gone that far, but what exactly was happening? "Kit, all I am is intrigued. I realize I have been overly judgmental, and that really sucks. What do we really know about him? I mean, really know. Not what rumors say, not second-hand stuff. What do we actually know?"

"Well..." Kit put her hands back to her hips and sputtered with nothing coming out. For the first time since Stella met her best friend, she was speechless.

Stella answered for her. "Nothing. We don't know anything, except that he's also fairly new to school, works at the pizzeria, and goes to school with us." A whole new concept was opening up to Stella. Damien Capernalli was a complete stranger. And, okay, she let her thoughts lead to where they'd always wanted to go—he was a completely sexy stranger.

"We know he is the most popular guy in all of Shoreline High. He was prom king, for Pete's sake. And is MVP of every sport he plays. I thought jocks were so not your thing, Stella. I thought you and I were going to fulfill our dreams of finding boyfriends like Johnny Depp, not someone like him."

"Kit, please. The other day you told me not to be so shallow. With my last boyfriend I had been so shallow, dating him for his looks and his status alone. With Damien, there is more than meets the eye."

"Alright, then. If this is how you feel, I'll support you in it, because that's what best friends do and all." She then pressed a hand against her chest. "Did you see all his chest hair? Whoa, it's like he isn't in high school anymore."

That made Stella think of Billy and his actual age, not what he falsely portrayed to the rest of the world. A chill started to make its way back down her spine, and anger flushed the feeling away. What was the likelihood that the same scenario would happen to her all over again with a different guy? Not likely at all. She couldn't continue to judge guys from her last experience alone. That's just ridiculous. "He's a high-schooler, Kit."

"I know, but I'd be surprised if any of the guys we know could grow even two strands per pec. Damien is like a man. And those muscles. Those muscles are like he takes some enhancer like steroids or something. Lance Armstrong got in big trouble for something like that."

Stella shook her head and dipped it into her hands.

"I'm sorry," Kit said. "I am being judgmental right now. You're right; we don't know him at all. My lips are zipped. If you want to pursue him, then go right ahead."

"Well, it's not even like I want to pursue him. Like I've said, I don't know anything about him. I just want to learn more about him."

"Hmmm, you want to learn more about him?" Her eyes lit up and she pulled her cell phone out of a pocket. "Let's check his Facebook really quick."

Suddenly Kit was a bubbling sleuth like Nancy Drew, as she pulled Stella onto the bedside with her.

"Hm," Kit mused, "he hasn't visited his profile in over a week. And check out all these messages posted to his wall: 'Where've you been?' 'Dude, are you alive?' 'Is your number the same?' 'Missed you at the beach.'"

"That is weird..." Stella kept reading more and more messages from both guys and girls, wondering where he had disappeared off to. But what did it mean? He hadn't been answering friends' calls or surfing at Shoreline's beach in over a week. Did he even mention the trip? That's not usual behavior for someone deemed most popular. Seemingly everything she judged was just suddenly wrong.

You know my name, but you don't know me, he had said to her outside the grange. "Who is Damien Capernalli?"

TEN

Damien entered the kitchen with caution. Something had shattered with a chorus of other noise. Maggie's behind bulged out of the pantry, and a box of crackers went flying over everyone, coming straight for him. He caught the box and set it on a white-tiled counter. Stella turned and locked her eyes on his with an expression he couldn't discern.

"Maggie," the others were saying, pulling on her.

"I'm hungry!" she shrieked back. "Must find food."

Damien carefully stepped around shards of glass on the old linoleum floor. "Maggie," he said, tugging gently on her shoulder.

She turned and flushed red like the first time she laid eyes on him. "I'm hungry." She pouted. "The old bat won't have dinner for us for another three hours. I haven't had lunch. I went on a monstrous hike. I'm literally going to die if I don't eat something more than half a beef stick."

By the looks of things, he believed her. "Go have a seat, Mag. Let me have a look and clean this up."

"Oh glory. He called me Mag." She placed a hand to her forehead. "Someone help me sit down."

Caleb escorted her to a seat in the dining room and Damien set his sights back on the pantry. Pretty bare for a bed and breakfast. No wonder the lady had to go shopping. The refrigerator just had some cheese, milk, salad dressings and other odds and ends. And there was a bare minimum of thawed chicken. Good thing he didn't need much to work his magic. He rubbed his hands together, wondering what else may be available.

Upon opening the tightly sealed freezer, a pungent odor like rancid meat flared his nostrils in disgust. He jerked aside and leaned over like he would throw up, feeling his heart race. He knew his sense of smell was like a hundred times more sensitive now as a wolf, but what would stink so bad he'd react that violently? Holding his breath as best he could, he shifted around the few icy items, until he saw the Ziploc bag of what looked like entrails. That had to be it.

Out of crazy curiosity, he put his nose right to it and sniffed. Big mistake. It felt like he just inhaled a fire that burned his lungs. Damien slid open the kitchen's window, pushed out the screen and flung the bagged up stuff as far as he could. Resting against the sink, he breathed in and out, in and out, still being able to smell the stench, though it was more bearable now. He reached into the cupboards below and scattered around the cleaning products until he found a Lysol aerosol can. The next moment, he was back in front of the freezer, giving it a nice spray before punching it closed.

"Note to self...," Damien said, "...be more careful when opening strangers' freezers."

Everyone else retreated to other places by the time he had his ingredients set on an island: salt, flour, eggs, yeast, olive oil, barbeque sauce, brown sugar and chicken tenders. Then there was the plate of snacks he threw together for Maggie: quesadillas and crackers with peanut butter, to hold her off in the meantime.

Making dinner would keep him busy, both his body and mind. He'd have to make an excuse to go back to the beach every night, unless he wanted to get caught as a beast. There was no way he was going to stay the night with Gordon or Caleb, and risk having them see him for who he really is.

Since Stella was still weird around him, he figured the kitchen was also a momentary refuge from her. He debated whether or not he should approach her again, whether or not he should give an actual apology for making her uncomfortable.

He cracked an egg into a hand, letting it drip through his fingers into a bowl. Nah, approaching her, even to apologize, would probably make things even more uncomfortable. Maybe he shouldn't say anything, and just keep his distance, like he told her at the beach. She definitely was different from other girls he knew. Girls who wanted to be close to him. He couldn't solve things the way he was used to, by simply saying sorry and moving in for a kiss with big brown puppy-dog eyes.

...Or could he?

As he stirred the contents of his bowl, thinking that over, the kitchen door swung open. He hoped it would be Stella, but it was the purple-headed friend. Kit, he remembered.

"Hi," he said, still stirring away.

"Hey," she responded tentatively. After that, though, it was like a volcano erupting. She set her elbows on the island across from him and confessed, "So, I was going to, like, walk in here and pretend to want a drink from the refrigerator, and smoothly ask you a question or two. But I can't. I just have to come right out and ask you. Please don't tell Stella I am saying this either, or she'll hate me for a couple days."

Damien couldn't help but smile crookedly to that. His interest was definitely piqued, and he moved the bowl aside to pay full attention. "What's up?"

"That's what I want to ask you. What's up with you? Why are you here? Wouldn't you rather be with your beach buds or whatever?"

"No," he said. "I would rather be here."

"But why?" Her forehead wrinkled. "Seriously. You can tell me."

"No, I can't," he said before thinking.

"You can't? Why? What's the big deal? And why have you been avoiding your friends?"

"How did you know about that?" He grabbed the sack of flour and poured some in with his mix.

"Facebook. It's a wonderful tool for stalking," she joked.

"You looked me up? Why?" He set the bag back down, and asked the next thing that popped into his mind. "Stella want to know something?"

"Um, no. That's not what I said. Just answer why you can't say that you're here. You told Stella it's because you like werewolves."

Like was the wrong word. "I want to learn about werewolves," he said. "Got any info? I would appreciate it." He flashed a smile.

Kit tilted her head and peered keenly at him. "What is it you are hiding, Mr. Capernalli? I have a right to know as Stella Dabrowski's best friend."

He chuckled to lighten the mood. It was like a chimp had jumped on his back and wouldn't stop making its monkey sounds. "I just need to get away from my normal life... life as I have been used to it. You can stop with the interrogation. You don't have to worry; I know better than to hit on your best friend."

"What do you mean? Explain."

Great Scott, this girl wasn't going to back off. "You," he motioned, "made it completely clear the other night she does not like me. And I'm a guy who can take a hint." He winked.

"Well, you, sir," she pointed in accusation, "made it clear to her that you're a man-ho."

His hand accidentally knocked the carton of eggs off the counter, and they fell to floor, bursting. He looked down to the yellow yoke streaks in frustration, then back to Kit. "A man-ho?"

"Yeah, dude. When she asked you out, you weren't even paying attention to her, because one of your little bimbo girls was stealing your attention."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." He put his hands up in complete surprise. "She told you about Tina? The cashier at my Uncle Leo's? Because that girl truly is a bimbo. What your bestie doesn't know is I wanted to say yes to her request for a date, but she threw a fit before I had the chance."

Kit squinted her eyes in disbelief. "You wanted to go on a date with Stella?"

"Uh, yeah," he said with as much emphasis as he could to rub it in.

"So you're here for her, then. I knew you weren't a paranormal addict. You know, she's not going to like all this lying business."

His pulse rate heightened. He could feel his heart beat hard with a sudden anger. He gripped the edge of the counter, letting his forearms bulge with all their strength. "I am not here, chasing after Stella." A deep-throated growl threatened to escape, and he did all he could to hold it back.

Kit looked at him with fear in her eyes. He quickly turned his back to her and took a couple deep breaths, knowing he was not supposed to react that way. His response wasn't supposed to be so... scary. "I'm sorry. Please... please leave me alone."

He heard the footsteps out of the kitchen and the creak of the swinging door. He didn't move for a long time, just trying to get his bearings back. What happened was so messed up. How could he let himself get that way? Kit was annoying, but she didn't deserve that. Stella would hear about every detail, too, no doubt. He rubbed his face in worry.

What... was... that? His hand quivered as he slowly touched his forehead. He could feel the prickles. The toaster. He pulled a toaster plug out of the wall in a swift jerk, brought the appliance close to his face, and checked his reflection in its metal. Hairs. They were there from every pore, but retracting back into his skin without a trace.

The door creaked again, and he took one more glimpse of his now normal face. When he turned to Maggie, she eyed him strangely. Had Kit said something? "You okay, Damien?" she asked.

His shirt felt a bit wet with sweat, but his pulse was back to normal. "Yeah... why?"

"You just look like you've seen a ghost," she said.

"No, no ghost."

"Darn," she said deflated. "Not one paranormal occurrence yet. If you see a creature, make sure you let me know right away."

"Will do." He breathed some more at the irony of the statement.

"Anyway, I feel much better after you gave me those snacks. You're a life-saver, Damien." She set an empty, crumb-filled plate in the sink. "Can I help you a bit?"

"No, that's fine." He wiped his forehead.

*

When Maggie exited the kitchen she was all smiles. Stella waited with the rest of the group, which was kind of huddled together on the throw rug of the front room. This was so silly. Kit couldn't be right about Damien. Stella knew her best friend could be dramatic, but this time it was ridiculous.

Maggie plopped down with the rest of them. "Still looks like Damien to me. Smokin' hot. Oh, and tonight's din-din is barbeque chicken pizza. What would we do without him?"

Everyone looked at Kit who shrugged her shoulders. "He looked like a monster to me, when I saw him."

Caleb said, "What did he look like again?"

"His muscles were bulging huge."

"That's normal for him." Maggie's eyes lit up.

"His face turned really red."

"We all blush from time to time. I do all the time around him. A shameless habit."

"Alright, well," Kit shrugged again, "he just scared me to death. He looked like a monster to me."

Gordon piped in, "We can turn on my scanner and see what happens."

Maggie rolled her eyes to that. "Puh-lease, we've already gone over that idea. Your scanner doesn't work."

Gordon looked down to the ground in defeat.

"Well, what do we do now?" Caleb asked.

Stella had to say something this time. "We resume our trip like normal. And nobody brings up my name to Damien again." She eyed Kit. "We'll have dinner, maybe play some games, tell some scary paranormal stories, etcetera. Just pretend like this never happened, and have some fun together."

ELEVEN

Although the plan was to have fun together, everyone broke off into doing their own things, whether that was reading, playing Solitaire, checking Facebook statuses, or whatever. Stella wondered why Damien hadn't exited the kitchen, since a couple hours ago, since the supposed big blow up with Kit. She had been sitting in the dining room, reading the brochures about Lady Shoemaker's home, keeping one eye on the kitchen's door out of curiosity. Come to think of it, she hadn't heard any clanking around of dishes and things in a long time. Had he actually slipped away without her noticing?

Stella looked around again to everyone absorbed in their own activities, before standing up. She had to see for herself what he was up to. She quietly made her way into the kitchen. Ingredients were everywhere, a carton of eggs broken up on the floor. And then there was Damien, sitting on a stool, his head down on the counter, his large arms lying down with the rest of his hunched-over body.

Damien had actually fallen asleep. He was so peaceful. Completely opposite of what Kit described. Stella stepped closer to him. His dark hair looked especially good, seemingly thicker or longer. She had the silly urge to touch him.

"Ding!" An old timer went off. Stella's nerves jumped at the sudden, loud sound. Damien jolted up and then nearly fell out of his seat when his eyes met hers. "H-hi," he said and cleared his throat.

"Uh, hi." Stella cracked a smile. Although Damien was a big beefcake, he looked completely harmless right now. Kit had to be wrong. He wouldn't harm a fly.

"My timer went off." He stated the obvious.

"Yes, yes it did. What were you waiting for?"

He brushed a hand through his hair and pointed at the fridge. "My dough to rise."

Stella nodded and didn't say anything else. It was so hard to have a conversation with Damien. There was still a bunch of awkward in the air.

"Do you want to see it? The dough?"

"Oookay." She smiled again.

He seemed surprised. "Everything's okay?"

"Yeah, everything is fine." She leaned over and picked up the carton of eggs.

He looked at the mess with a forced chuckle. "I forgot that was there."

She just nodded again, keeping her mouth shut. Damien got up, went to the fridge and pulled out a plate with a big dough ball. He made a clear space for it on the island and said, "It's perfect."

Stella politely agreed and busied her hands with putting away the ingredients already used, and wiping up the raw egg splatters off the floor. Damien was quiet, too, as he rummaged around, and then found a big wooden carving board. "Oh, could you pass me back the flour?" he asked almost like a scared puppy.

"Sure," Stella said, going to the pantry and retrieving it. She never saw this side to him. This very nervous, so unsure side of him.

"Thanks." He powdered the wood, and smoothed a hand across it, evening out the white stuff.

Stella sat on the stool across from him, not saying a word, watching him work. He mashed and stretched the dough ball a few times, keeping to himself. This gave her eyes free roaming time, as they would go from looking at his arms to looking at his chest, to looking at his determined face.

After stretching the dough to satisfaction, Damien spin-tossed it a couple times. He looked at Stella with a little smile and she nodded her approval. Then things got really interesting. He flung the dough higher, turned around and caught it. Stella offered a somewhat-amused clap. Next, in his little show for her, he flipped the dough even higher and spun around a couple times, before letting the dough wheel its way from his left arm, across the back of his neck, and to the other arm.

"Wow." Stella was beside herself.

Finally, he spun the dough around and around his finger, like spinning a plate. She could tell his confidence was back, as he ended it with raising his eyebrows a couple times at her.

"That really was impressive," she said.

"That's nothing." He waved a hand at the thought. Stella thought he was playing false modesty, but then he said, "If these old ceilings were higher, I could give you a real show."

"I believe you." She let her eyes set on his longer than usual. It felt good. Electric. She pulled her eyes away, the pull feeling too strong, and then looked back up. A bit of flour powdered his jaw-line white. "You have something... right there." She rubbed her own face with a thumb for example.

"Where? Here?" He rubbed the wrong side.

"No, over here."

"Here?" He stepped closer to her, rubbing his chin. The way he was looking at her, Stella knew he was distracted. A smear of something on his face was the last thing on his mind. Was she dreaming? "Show me," he said, and took her hand in his. Stella's heart sputtered at the touch, but she didn't pull away. His warm hand moved her fingers softly across his scruff. She tingled at the sensation, and his deep brown eyes were so centered on her, she felt like she could melt out of her seat, to nothing more than a steaming puddle on the floor.

Damien moved in closer, his mouth so close to hers she could feel his warm breath tickle her lips. There was no room for thinking, just enough for believing. And Stella could hardly believe this was happening. She took a deep breath and readied herself for the kiss. He placed her hand around his neck and moved his own hand up the back of hers, into her hair. He closed his eyes, and she kept hers open.

The door squeaked open. It was Maggie having no clue she burst the moment. "Dinner almost... ready?" Her voice dropped at the tail-end.

Stella scooted off the stool, and quickly left the kitchen, feeling complete embarrassment.

*

What just happened? Stella asked of herself for the seemingly thousandth time. She sat on the padded toilet of the small bathroom that stunk like old lady perfumes. "Damien Capernalli almost kissed me."

TWELVE

"Hi, Maggie."

"Hello, Damien? Did I just see—?"

"Yes. Yes, you did."

"Bloody hell. Does this mean I don't got a shot with you?"

(Silence.)

"Never mind I just said that. Good luck and God bless and—"

"Thanks, Mag."

"I'll go now..."

"See you in twenty, for dinner."

"Oh, right. Is that when it's ready?"

"Yes."

"Right then. See you. Be looking forward to it."

(Door squeak and footsteps.)

*

Stella was late for dinner, finally coming out of the bathroom after Caleb knocked with an "emergency." Damien caught a millisecond glance to him before she took a seat far from him. Did she regret what they almost did? Awkward silence hovered over the dinner table from then on. Even the compliments over his masterpiece were obviously forced. The ticking second hand of the clock beside them seemed to get louder and louder and louder....

"How was everybody's day today?" Damien asked, throwing himself out there, out to what he metaphorically compared to a shark-infested ocean, he being the lone seal. It felt like moments ago he almost blew up all over Kit. And moments ago Maggie walked in on him trying to make out with Stella. Surely gossip must have spread throughout the little circle by now, about both incidents.

Gordon slowly answered, "It kind of sucked."

Caleb let out a burst of laughter to that, and Kit rolled her eyes.

Surely they must have been thinking all the drama he caused sucked. Way to make new... friends, Damien considered the term.

Gordon took his second slice of pizza, before saying, "Are we still going to have sharing time tonight?"

Sharing time? Damien wondered what that could be, other than a bunch of first graders talking about what their mommies and daddies do for a living. "What's that?"

Maggie answered, "It's like a book club thing. We discuss the latest stuff we've been reading. Or it could be about movies, too. As long as it's paranormal, you know."

That actually sounded like the perfect plan. Get everyone talking about things and thinking about things other than the rifts he caused. "I've been reading some stuff lately."

Several eyebrows raised to that. He ignored it. Obviously it was a surprise to them that he could read. "Yeah, I finished New Moon the other day." No one responded to that, but Stella looked up to him, as if awaiting more. "...Have any of you read that?"

Gordon and Maggie put up their hands. Gordon added right away, "It was just because my sister read it, and it was lying around the house. I don't really like Twilight."

Maggie smacked him with a look to not be rude, and said, "That book is the bomb. Best out of all four of the Twilight series, most definitely."

"I wouldn't know," Damien confessed. "It's the only one I've read."

"Really?" she asked. "You missed loads of character development between Bella and Edward from the first book. What made you start with Book 2?"

Damien shifted in his seat and finished chewing on a big bite, taking his time to think over a response. "Well, I don't have a sister who would have laid it around, so I don't have that as an excuse."

He heard a small laugh restrained from Stella's end of the table. "Anyway," he went on, "I guess I was more interested in reading about Jacob's journey."

"Jacob's journey?" Kit repeated.

"Yes. Jacob's."

"Why's that?" she asked, sounding like the question was a challenge. Maybe she didn't believe he actually picked the book up, much less, read through its pages.

"Because, well, he is the one who is the werewolf."

"Werewolf," Kit repeated, and Damien caught Stella's quizzical stare at her.

"Yeah," he simply said, and then it dawned on him that Kit may have seen him hairy and all, and then wondered whether or not she told the others. He took a moment to look each person in the eyes one at a time. That could be the real reason they were all acting so strange. They knew he was a werewolf. Suddenly "sharing time" didn't seem like such a perfect plan. Or did it?

"Sure. While we're on the subject," he challenged back, narrowing his eyes, "let the new guy know all your thoughts on werewolves. I heard you went werewolf hunting this morning."

"We did go werewolf 'searching' this morning," Maggie said, taking her second slice of pizza. "But all we found were prints."

"Yeah, and how do you know they belonged to a werewolf?"

Gordon interjected, "They match precisely what handbooks show."

"Handbooks?"

"Sure, like bird or flower books, to match types and species, only it's for paranormal creatures. The print matched the species of werewolves."

"And you have this book on you?" Damien hoped, just for curiosity's sake.

"No, it's at home. I just have a really good memory. It's a photographic memory."

"He's also been in space," Maggie said with a dry, unenthused voice.

Damien ignored that little remark, whatever that was supposed to mean. "So you found werewolf tracks. That's pretty cool. Where exactly were they?" If he was going to pass out and forget stuff like this, at least he could piece some of it together through clues.

"Three miles north."

Caleb said, "Kind of up the mountain behind us. It would have been fun to actually get to see a werewolf, but the tracks were cool."

Damien looked at Kit, challenging her again. "You haven't seen any werewolves since you've been here?"

Rather than respond, Kit took another bite of pizza.

"Alright." He moved on. "So, as I said, I read New Moon. Jacob basically transforms into this creature because of his blood. It runs in his family, as part of his ancestral heritage. As we probably all know, since the movie's been out for a while, he is Native American. So, do werewolves descend strictly from a Native American heritage, or can anyone, from any background, become a werewolf?"

"There are two ways," Maggie said, setting down her slice. "There are two known ways someone can become a werewolf. Either they get bitten by one, or they come from a lineage of them. So, let's say an African-American gets bitten by a werewolf one night. If he then has a child, that child would also be a werewolf. You see how that works? So, nationality isn't a factor; anyone can be born a werewolf, given that one of their ancestors were turned."

Hm, that was a twist he hadn't considered. Maggie didn't mention that after the PAA meeting Thursday night. He zoned out, thinking about his family. Uncle Leo had taken care of him for the past year, and he never knew his father. Could it be...?

When he came out of his bubble, most eyes were on him, waiting. "Sorry, I guess I just zoned out a moment." Now was the perfect opportunity to keep asking about werewolves, since he still had everyone's attention. "Okay, what do you all think about imprinting?"

Caleb responded first, around a mouthful. "Fake. No such thing as imprinting."

"Why do you think that?"

"I don't know. I just think it's made up by that author. You don't see it in other fiction."

Like almost anything about werewolves, Damien didn't really know either way. He was pretty sure his interest in Stella was more of a normal teenage male hormonal thing, so he scooted the worry aside.

The Deathheads tattoo on his back came to mind, and he opened his mouth to say something but stopped. If he brought up tattoos next, he feared that would hint too much at himself.

Before he could say anything more on the subject anyway, the front door opened. It was his first time seeing the elderly woman. She carried a brown bag of groceries, struggling to shut the door behind her with a foot. Without giving further thought, Damien went right over to help.

"I got it," the woman said. "If you want to help, go out to my car. There's more there."

Damien went out to the station wagon, and opened the back seat. There sat three more brown bags filled to the brim with food. He balanced two in one arm and grabbed the other. It was already dusk, and the moon was especially bright tonight. He looked up to it, like it was calling him. "What do you want?" he asked. He then had the sense someone else was nearby watching. He stepped along and up to the porch, looking over his shoulders.

Back inside, he was surprised to see the woman talking about him. "The paperwork didn't mention anyone else was coming. How old is he?"

Damien set the groceries down exactly where he was, on the wood floor, and cut in, "I'm seventeen."

She turned to him, her back a bit hunched, staring him down. "I have no permission slip for you."

That was true. All he did was tell Uncle Leo he'd be out, spending the night with different friends before school started. "I'm sorry. I left it back home."

She stepped closer. "You aren't allowed to stay here. You just better head back home. Now go. Get on out."

Maggie stood up from the table, and said, "Mrs. Partridge, you don't expect him to just drive all night to go home, do you? It would be safer if he stayed here, and left during daytime." Damien thought it very brave of Maggie to step up like that, but he needed a good excuse to not spend the night anyway.

"It's okay," Damien said. "I have another place I can stay the night."

Stella looked him in the eyes like she knew it was the beach. He hoped his yearning for her showed enough in his own eyes. He really liked the almost-kiss they shared, and wanted to follow through with its intention. No way would he just up and leave, go all the way back home, just because the old woman told him to. He'd hang around, whether or not that meant at the bed and breakfast. Plus, he made some progress tonight, learning more about his situation.

"I'll be where you know you can find me," he said to all, making his message clear he wouldn't completely leave.

THIRTEEN

At 12:10 a.m. a soft knock on Stella and Kit's door startled them out of their very heated thumb war. They knew it was 12:10 on the dot, because they were timing their little game. "I'll whip your thumb's butt later," Stella promised. She softly stepped across the room, and slowly opened the door, not knowing what to expect.

Caleb's face was ready with a wagging tongue, making a silly face. Gordon was beside him with an Uno deck, and Maggie, behind them both, balanced a stack of bowls and a gallon of ice cream. They all smiled, not making a peep, and practically tip-toed as they entered. Stella cringed at the small creak of the door as she shut it behind them.

"What are you doing?" Kit whispered loudly, still sitting on the bed.

"It's party time," Caleb whispered back, and plopped next to her.

"I was going to beat Stella at a thumb war for once," she whined.

"I'll play you." He put his hand out and Kit eagerly accepted.

"Watch out for her secret," Stella said. "She has a trick thumb that clicks all double-jointed."

"Hey, someone needs a trick when they play against long freaky fingers like Stella's."

"My fingers are not freaky." Stella lifted them up to analyze, just in case, as Gordon and Maggie took their places on the bed.

"They're a little freaky, actually," Maggie agreed. "Look—hold them up all creepy-like." She clawed at the air. "I bet they'll look pretty witchy."

Stella couldn't help but imitate the move.

"I won." Kit fist-pumped.

"I let you win," Caleb said.

"You did not."

"Yes I did. It's only proper to let a lady win."

"Oh please..."

"I was being a gentleman."

"You're such a dork." Kit whapped Caleb over the head with a pillow, and the two started up a wrestling match that went beyond just thumbs.

"Quiet," Stella warned. "We're not supposed to be up still."

Kit wiped a stray strand of purple bangs out of her eyes and asked, "What do you all think Mrs. Partridge would do if she caught us up past midnight?"

"Make soup out of us like the wicked ol' witch in Hansel and Gretel," Maggie said.

They all looked at each other with serious faces, Gordon's hand stopped mid-air, passing out an Uno card. The next second they each sputtered out a laugh.

"No, but I mean it." Maggie nodded, showing sincerity. "After the way she treated Damien, I think she was wanting to take the biggest man out. Now we're more vulnerable. We can use a beefcake like Damien out here in these lonely woods. I wasn't even going to confront her about her lack of fulfilling her contractual duties of feeding us tonight."

Kit gave her a funny look and snickered again.

"I said I mean it. Anyone else wonder why she would live here all by herself? We should find out what happened to the last guests here. See if they're still living."

That last comment got to Stella. She had wondered why the woman lived alone and acted so creepy. "Let's not let our imaginations run away with us," Stella whispered. "She's just eccentric. And she just wanted Damien out so she wouldn't be responsible for him without proper permission."

They didn't respond, to which Stella added, "Let's play. I love Uno. Did you bring this game, Gordon?"

Gordon nodded and with a reassured smile finished passing out the cards.

Not more than ten minutes into the game, Caleb was down to one card and called out Uno a little too loud. Stella cringed along with the rest and their hands went up in quick gestures to be quiet. Not more than ten seconds after that, one of the hallway's floorboards creaked.

Kit leapt off the bed and flicked off the light. When she returned to her spot, Maggie whispered, barely audible, "It's too late. She woulda seen the light."

Another floorboard creaked.

The moonlight did its best to peek through the heavy drapes to no avail. It was completely black in the room. No one made a peep, but they could hear each other breathe. Stella was holding someone's hand. Who it belonged to, she hadn't a clue. It didn't matter.

Gordon finally whispered, "Could it be ghosts?"

The next thing she knew, Stella was huddled with the group beside the bedroom door. Caleb turned the knob and cracked it open. Nothing but a chill met them. Maggie said to Gordon, "Now, go."

"Why do I have to go first?"

"Because it's your scanner." She nudged.

"Someone needs to come with me. I'm not going alone."

"Dude, I can't fight," Caleb said. "I've never been in a fight in my life."

"I've never been in a fight either," Gordon said.

Stella cut in, "I don't think any of us have been in fights, but—"

"I've been in fights," Maggie interjected. "Just not with a wicked ol' witch."

Stella finished, "Let's all go together, at the same time, then."

Still huddled together, they gripped each other as they went, tip-toeing across the hall. Nothing jumped out at them. Once in Gordon's room, the door shut loudly. Each turned to each other with a "Shhh!"

Gordon tripped around in the dark, over the guys' strewn clothes, shoes and suitcases. "Shhh!" everyone again warned. The drapes were open, and they could see his silhouette as he rejoined their group. Then the scanner's red light turned on.

Right away Gordon's machine made a static sound, and the red light flickered. "You know what this means, guys?" he whispered loudly in excitement. "Paranormal activity!"

They all sputtered words of excitement, and Gordon explained. "It's like a game of hot or cold. The closer we are to the thing, the faster the light will blink. When we're right at the thing, we'll hear a soft beeping instead of static."

"Oh my gosh, this is so freaking amazing." Kit hopped in place. "Whatever it is, it's definitely here at this bed and breakfast, right? What's the range?"

Gordon nodded. "My machine only detects activity within an acre. By the way the light is blinking once every three seconds, I would say it is in the house."

Caleb fumbled around with his phone. "I'm ready for pictures."

Maggie said, "I'm telling you guys, it's Mrs. Partridge herself. She's a witch."

Stella felt all jittery inside. No way could it all be true. Could it? As a self-proclaimed nonbeliever, paranormal creatures were supposed to be limited to entertainment, not reality. If they were suddenly real, then what would that mean?

Kit asked, "Maggie, what about the story you gave us about ghosts creaking and moaning down the halls? Couldn't it be a ghost?"

"You guys, I made all that junk up."

Now everyone was bewildered, looking to each other in surprise, and demanding she explain herself.

"I've never been a ghost hunter. I didn't live with my grandmother in an English cottage."

Stella gasped, speechless. The others were apparently speechless as well.

She went on in an American accent, "I've never even lived in England. And my grandmother—she's from Kentucky."

"What?" Kit demanded, "What the heck, Maggie? If that's your real name. What are you saying?"

Maggie breathed, and said, still with no more accent, "I do believe in ghosts and all, but I have a problem with compulsive lying. I am a compulsive liar. There, I said it. Please don't hate me. I already hate myself." She started blubbering into a hand.

Stella rolled her eyes back like they were reaching for the ceiling. Bizarre. It was so bizarre, and so not the time to be confessing to something that monumental, when she was already trying to cope with the possibility of all things paranormal being true. She just needed to focus on Gordon's scanner and find out if it everything else was bogus, too. "Maggie, do you believe in ghosts and witches and werewolves...?"

"Yes, I do." She wiped her sniveling nose. "I swear, it's the honest truth I do. Lying has just become this nasty, nasty habit of mine, you see. And when I set up the field trip, I just picked a creepy location. This place isn't rated in the Top Five in the nation for paranormal activity, if it rates at all anywhere for that. You read every brochure on the place yesterday, Stella. Did any of them mention ghosts?"

Stella knitted her brows together and recalled each of them, boasting the seaside, the fresh woodland setting, hearty breakfasts, and more. But nothing paranormal whatsoever. Nothing. How could Maggie take things this far? She shook her head, her eyes settling on the scanner's red light that still blinked. "So..., did you just say all the stuff about Mrs. Partridge to freak us out or something? Or do you really believe she could be a witch?"

Maggie shook her head, and finished wiping her nose on an arm. "In the moment, I really did believe it. But I don't know any better than all of you, so take it for what it's worth—not much. Sometimes I even fall for my exaggerations and lies."

Another creak in the hall, and the fact that the scanner's red light now started blinking at a faster rate, stopped Stella's heart, and she didn't care anymore about Maggie. Her back tensed and her hands fisted against Kit who clung to Caleb.

All was completely silent again, and Caleb reached for something. Light glinted off its base, and Stella could make out it was a lamp. Caleb was arming himself for a fight?

Maggie moved an arm through everyone and Stella heard her turn the lock. Stella wondered why they hadn't thought of that in the first place. But if the scanner was correct, and something paranormal was outside the door, then would a lock on a door really make a difference? Or what about a crazy person, Stella's thoughts raced through all her memories of creepy Mrs. Partridge. Would a lock stop a crazy person? She knew it wouldn't.

"Who's out there?" Kit suddenly burst. Stella smothered her friend's mouth in fear.

There was another creak, closer. Then silence for a long time. Then there was a definite sound of feet coming back down the hall, to them. Stella glanced at the window, considering it as a possible escape route. Fear trickled down her spine.

Then there was a knock on the door, even and steady. Not once, not twice, but three times. This made everyone scream and bumble away from the door. The doorknob jiggled and another couple jiggles later, the door opened. A silhouette of the old woman in the dark hall stood there hunched and thin. "You disobeyed me," she said.

No one answered, and Stella couldn't miss the fact that Caleb still held tight to the lamp, ready with it in front of everyone like a weapon.

"Throw it at her," Kit screeched to Caleb.

Caleb didn't move an inch out of his frozen, but ready, position.

Stella couldn't believe what happened the next second. Maggie grabbed the lamp and pushed Caleb to the ground, then flung the thing at the old woman. There wasn't a scream, not even a yelp, or gasp, but Maggie's aim was right on. Stella had covered her eyes, but there was the unmistakable thud of a body to the ground.

It all of the sudden got very loud, as each other's voices competed to be heard. Maggie went and turned on the light, and it got silent again. Stella flinched her sights away from the doorway. She did not want to see the lifeless body and splattered blood, no matter the victim. This was real. It wasn't one of her horror movies or books. There was a murdered old lady lying a few feet in front of them. Stella's hands shook as she pressed them to her temples, wishing she could erase this day from her history.

"You guys," Maggie said, with a tone of discovery. "Something's wrong here."

"No, duh, something's wrong here." Gordon blew up again. "She's dead, killed, dead, kabloweeee!"

"No, you stupid little genius," Maggie emphasized each word, "she is not like us. Check out her brains."

It was Kit's turn to blow up. "We don't want to check out her brains! This is crazy, guys! Someone call the cops. It's gone too far. I want to go home!"

Stella made to speak, but Maggie was ready with a hot response herself. "Shut up! Shut up, all of you. I am telling you that Mrs. Partridge is not like us. We were right, or I was right. She is a witch or something. She's not normal. Someone else look at this to confirm I have not gone completely mad."

Stella squeezed her hands together and took a deep, deep breath. "I will look." She had to know for herself. If she wouldn't look, she knew she would have regrets. She stepped forward and willed her eyes to stay open, her knees shaking the whole way. The lamp laid on the floor, its base cracked. Mrs. Partridge's body lay crooked beside it, the top of her skull completely knocked off. Her head was empty. Maggie stepped around the body and turned on the hall light to inspect further.

"She's twitching," Caleb shrieked like a little girl and hopped on top of the bed, like when someone spots a mouse.

It was true. Stella watched as the dead woman's frail old hand lifted off the ground first. Next her arm, then her whole back peeled itself off the floor, her neck and head drooping back as she sat up.

Maggie went for the lamp again, but fell flat on top of Mrs. Partridge, or whomever she was. Everyone screamed, and Stella yanked on the heavy girl to help pull her off the moving corpse. Maggie finally stood, winded and white. They stepped backwards together in shock.

Mrs. Partridge stood, cracked her back, and finally adjusted her head straight up. Her cranium was still missing. Everyone waited with wide eyes as she opened her mouth to speak. "I'm suddenly very hungry... Who wants hotcakes?"

"What the...?" Caleb freaked, holding a pillow out like a shield in defense.

Gordon sprang into his grasshopper Karate stance. His hands moved in swift chopping motions, while mimicking all sorts of "Whaaw" Karate sounds.

Kit threw a dirty sock from off the floor at her. "What are you?"

"I'm Mrs. Partridge," she said with a lovely, sing-song tone.

Caleb said, high-pitched and frantic, "She thinks she's going to fool us with a Mary Poppins voice!"

FOURTEEN

When Stella awoke the next morning, she wished the whole freaky episode with Mrs. Partridge had been a nightmare. Then she could just place it on her figurative shelf with other nightmares, like being naked in class during an oral report. If only it was just that—a nightmare. But lying there on the beach, exhausted mentally and physically, she knew it couldn't have been more true. The bed and breakfast hostess would have killed them all, but they got away after Gordon successfully used his ninja skills. Gordon. Ninja skills. Yeah, things were definitely strange.

Stella rolled to her side and stretched. At least the beaches here were warmer than back home. Kit and the rest were still sleeping, fully clothed as well in what they had been wearing when they slipped through the window and ran out of there.

Damien sat on a rock. Stella didn't remember seeing him at all last night, so he had found them. Their spot on the beach was at least a few miles from where she found him sprawled out asleep yesterday morning. He sat there, staring at the gray-blue sea rolling forward and lapping against the shore. She smiled at the surprise, just watching his profile. He was a sight for sore eyes after last night, his pretty skin and muscles that formed beautiful hills and valleys. ...They almost kissed.

They almost kissed. If only that memory could erase the one of the walking corpse. She rehearsed the time they shared in the kitchen, this time embracing every moment, not letting confusion rip the wings off one butterfly in her stomach. As her eyes settled more on him, she recalled him showing off for her his pizza dough skills, she recalled the flour on his chin, him stepping close to her and taking her hand in his, brushing his face with her fingertips... Butterflies.

As if sensing her thoughts, Damien turned and looked right at her. He gave a small wave and stayed in his position. A sea breeze swept through the air, moving his dark hair.

Stella closed her eyes a moment, took in a deep breath of the salty fresh air, and stood up. Damien's eyes were still on her as she rubbed the sand off her arms and jeans. She went to the rock and sat next to him. They both stared out to the ocean together, until Stella felt the warmth of his hand settle over hers. She looked up to him, and he looked down to her, and they both gave a smile that said they missed seeing each other.

The two walked along the shore together, just holding hands, silent for a long time. They let the roar and purr of the ocean do all the speaking. It felt like they had walked for nearly a mile, when Damien sat on the wet sand and Stella came right down with him, still holding his hand. There was something really gentle about him. Yet another side she hadn't seen before.

With Stella's free hand, she caressed his forearm while leaning into him. "I'm sorry I judged you," she said.

He looked down to her with his deep brown eyes. Somehow she knew this time they weren't going to almost-kiss. This was different. A time to reflect and reveal. A time to share.

"In my mind, before yesterday, I had compared you to every other popular guy I knew," she said, feeling terrible. "I always considered myself non-judgmental, but that bubble burst yesterday."

He kept looking into her eyes, this time with seeming sympathy. "What do you mean?"

Stella sucked in some salty air before laying the ugly truth out further. "I used to be really popular."

His eyebrows raised to that in amusement. "Really?"

"Really. It was Freshman and Sophomore year, back when I lived in Idaho. And, I know, I know, Idaho's population is pretty dismal, but there are schools that actually have more than five-hundred kids in attendance, especially if you live in Boise. So anyway, I did it all: volleyball, acting, dance team."

"Dance team?" He smiled.

"Well, I am a klutz. I dropped out of dance, because I am that terrible. I was a really happy-go-lucky girl, loved all things girly, could giggle with the best of them."

Damien's smile broadened at that.

"I dated quite a few guys. Popular guys, I mean. And I soon found they all were cookie-cutter copies of each other, the only real differences being physical traits. I dated the guy with the dimples, the guy with the hair, the guy with the mischievous smile. They all just lied to me, used me, hurt me, made themselves out to be something they weren't. Basically, they told me what I wanted to hear.

"And it sucked, because before long I would find out one was cheating on me, one dated me to get another girl jealous, another wanted to change me. There was no depth, no difference. They all did what their friends did, talked like their friends did—a bunch of lemmings.

"After my last boyfriend, I was so shaken up by his huge, huge lies and possessive behavior, I moved back in with my mom in Oregon to get away and make a completely brand new start. I didn't really want any reminders of my past choices, so I also changed quite a bit."

"What huge lies did he tell, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Um..., okay. I haven't told anyone else about this, but Billy was his name." She had to clear her throat to continue. "For one, he said he was seventeen, but he was really twenty-five."

"How did you meet him?"

"It was at a B.S.U frat party."

"What were you doing there?" He quirked his eyebrows.

"My friends liked hitting on college guys. I wasn't interested. I just wanted to dance. But when Billy asked me out and I turned him down, he wanted to know why. I told him I was just sixteen, and wasn't interested. I was too embarrassed to admit I was actually fifteen at the time. Well, he said he had graduated early through homeschooling and was only seventeen. We ended up talking a lot that night and we left the party together.

"Anyway, I soon found out everything Billy told me about himself was a lie. And this happened after I fell in love with him. With who I thought he was, anyway." She shuddered, and Damien rubbed her arm affectionately. "One night, after walking me home, I turned on my heels and followed him. He didn't want me to know where he lived for whatever reason. He said it was embarrassing conditions and he had lots of annoying roommates anyway. I was going to surprise him, show him that I didn't care about all that, and I wanted to give him one last kiss before the night was over."

Stella took in a deep breath and squeezed Damien's hand tighter. "Well, he didn't go back home. Instead, I caught him entering a morgue through a window. I snuck up and watched him through the glass. I saw him open a large metal door, tinker around a bit, and then slide a dead body out. It was so disgusting, seeing him grab a scalpel and other tools, like he was in ecstasy.

"He must have felt my eyes on him or something, because he glanced to the window and caught sight of me snooping. The mortification that glazed over his eyes was undeniable. I took off running, and he caught up to me, grabbing me by the arm, and insisting that he explain himself. So, then he came clean. He spilled about everything. About how he was really a freezer technician for bodies awaiting autopsy, and how he was really twenty-five.

"I didn't care what his true story was. He shouldn't have lied to me about who he was."

Damien sat still as if soaking it all up, a thoughtful expression across his eyes.

Stella wiggled her arms to rid the thoughts away, and forced herself to perk up. She was so excited to tell Damien all the reasons she found him to be different from the rest. "Damien, you don't talk like the average surfer or jock, for one," she said, putting up a finger. "Two, you really are into paranormal stuff, I can tell. Three, you like The Deathheads. Everyone knows they're not a band jocks listen to. Four, you aren't needy of your friends. You've taken this trip, leaving them to surf alone, to go after some of your own interests, no matter how weird they may think that is. You've also confessed proudly that you are a reader, and in doing so, you've shown a very intellectual side other guys our age lack if they have a body like yours.

"So, Damien Capernalli... you are your own person. You're authentic, and it makes me automatically want to trust you. That is what intrigues me, and why I've let my guard down now. It's been a long time since I opened up to a guy." There. She said it. And it felt good.

His eyes left hers and stared back out to the sea. She could tell he was having all sorts of thoughts, but it wasn't the reaction she expected. He was so serious, and even sucked in his lips and closed his lids tight for a long moment. When his hand slid out of hers, her heart dropped.

"What?" she asked.

Damien said barely above his breath, "...You deserve better than me."

"What do you mean? Damien, if it's about how many girls you've dated, you can call me out on the fact that I've dated lots and lots of guys."

"No, that's not it," he said sternly. "Though it does sicken me to think about all the girls I've dated."

That only made Stella like him more. "We share similar stories." She smiled and went to affectionately sweep some bangs away from his eyes.

He flinched to the side, hiding his face. "No, our stories are very, very different, Stella. We're nothing alike."

Stella's heart dropped to her stomach. "...I don't get it."

His brown eyes centered on her, dead-serious. "Get this—I'm not what you think. Don't ever let me be this close to you again." He stood up, and walked the shore, wiping his hands over his face and through his hair.

She was not going to cry. She would not cry. This did not deserve tears. Instead, she forced herself to stand and walk away, up the beach toward the road. Shaking her head, she said, "He was right. I don't know him. I never knew him. And I don't want to get to know him." That was it then. But when she got to an especially rocky area, she sunk down in a crevice for privacy and let out a few sobs.

FIFTEEN

Damien headed back to where he had surfed last night, back to where his jeep would be parked in a turn-out of the road. It was completely stupid what he let himself think, let himself do, when it came to Stella. Sure, it was fine to learn from the PAA about werewolves, for his own sake, but leading its president on was just wrong. Totally wrong. A jerk thing to do.

All the guys Stella mentioned, all her former boyfriends, just reminded him of what he sees when he looks in the mirror. He had been a terrible boyfriend many times over, to a plethora of giddy school girls. He hurt them really bad. ...Maybe he was cursed. That would definitely explain his situation. Karma came back to bite him big time.

Why had she and the others come down to the beach to sleep, anyway, instead of staying at the bed and breakfast? And why were they miles down the beach from the typical spot, the spot they knew he'd be staying at? He could hear them last night making raucous sounds miles away. A bonfire had sparked high in the sky. It hurt to think maybe he was purposefully uninvited to their party.

He still wasn't sure what Kit saw in the kitchen. He still wasn't sure what they all thought of him. Could it be, Stella knew about the animal part of him and just didn't mention it? He shook the thought away as if ludicrous. It didn't matter how much Stella was into paranormal creatures, it didn't mean she could actually fall for one. Falling for a werewolf was definitely limited to fiction... wasn't it?

Who's to tell? The world could be filled with others like him, for all he knew. There could be secret relationships going on all around him. Don't even play with the idea, he told himself. He couldn't let himself get back in that mental trap.

*

Back in his jeep, Damien let down its convertible top, turned on some music really loud, and squealed his tires onto the two-way road. He tapped a hand on the steering wheel to the beat, hoping to drown out thoughts about anything really. He sucked in the scent of the woods and the beach contending for top spot, and felt the wind whip through his thick hair and tickle his scalp. He was so outta there, back to Shoreline.

...Back to Shoreline. There was no real running away from his problems, really. His usual friends would be there, on him about not answering one call or text. The usual girls would be there, panting for their turn for a date.

When he glanced over to the beach he was leaving behind, he could have sworn he saw Stella, her long black hair ruffling in the wind sadly. It didn't matter. It was best for her that he go. Even though he told himself so, it didn't make it feel any better. A horn blared long. He forced his eyes back on the road. A car was headed right for him. He jerked the steering wheel to the right, surprised he was over the double-yellow line, in the first place.

The phone in his cup holder vibrated, lighting up, catching his attention. Uncle Leo. He turned down the music, and answered. "Yeah, hello...! Sure... You know me—always having a blast... I'm just hangin' out with-uh Tyler... Yeah, it's been cool... Wait. For real, Uncle? Tonight...? He's says he's coming...?" He rubbed his brow, and tried to keep his eyes focused on the road, learning from his last mistake. As soon as a turn-out would appear, he'd take it.

Moments later, Damien pulled into a diner's gravelly parking lot. His uncle was still on the line, when he turned off the ignition and took a massive breath in and then out. "This is crazy. This is really happening...? I'm not dreaming, then...?" His face turned sober and he dipped his head into a hand. "Uncle, I-uh can't make it tonight... No, of course I want to see him. It's just I lied to ya, Uncle. I'm not with Tyler. I'm not even in Oregon. I'm in California... Yeah."

SIXTEEN

"There she is!" Caleb called out, far in the distance. He waved his arms up and down to catch her attention he'd already got. "Stella!" Then the rest of the group appeared.

She didn't wave back. As indication enough that she heard all their yelling, her legs still moved one in front of the other in their direction.

Kit instantly hugged her when she was within arm's reach. "We were so worried. After last night, we were debating whether or not Mrs. Partridge hunted you down and dragged you away into her cheery little lair to feed off your brains!"

Stella groaned. "Last night really happened, then. I was hoping I was having a psychotic episode or something." She pulled out of the hug and said to them, "I was just taking a walk is all. No one dragged me into their lair." My heart was just dragged out of my chest.

"Well, we're glad you're okay," Maggie said.

"...Says the pseudo-English-American," Stella said out loud, and arched an eyebrow at her.

"Well, it's not really my fault is it? I have a disease. A lying disease. PAA isn't the only addicts' club I go to, you know."

Gordon looked up at Maggie through his thick glasses, and said, "Really? What do you all do at Compulsive Liars Anonymous? Go to the stand and tell outrageous stories, pat each other on the back, and come back for more tall-tales the next week? Maybe form a new political party? Run for president?"

"Okay, so I lied about the meeting, too. There are no meetings for liars. I'm just chit-chatting, so you can lay off me, space-monkey boy."

"Hey, I saved your life last night," he said. "Remember that."

"I'll give you that," she said. And looking humbled, she asked, "What shall we do today? First things first—I'm hungry."

"So am I," Caleb agreed, then Kit.

Stella nodded, but not out of agreement. Her stomach would feel empty no matter what, she was certain, whether or not she stuffed it with breakfast. "We're not going back to the bed and breakfast, so..."

Maggie knew just where to go. "There is a diner a couple miles down the road. I remember seeing it on the way in. It has a huge chicken sculpture outside. Can't miss it."

"I remember." Caleb laughed in agreement. "Yeah, let's go!" He was a little too excited. Stella could only imagine he was excited to take pictures with the chicken, maybe even climb it and ride its back.

Kit said, "Guys, I don't have much money left. Just like five bucks. What am I supposed to do? I haven't even thought about gas for the trip home."

Stella realized she probably owed her friend anyway some gas money and settled things right then, by saying her wallet would be in her suitcase. Just as soon as the words left her mouth, though, everyone stared at each other like metaphorical light bulbs just went off above each of their heads. "Our stuff!"

Maggie twisted her mouth. "Can we get a bite to eat first?"

Gordon and Maggie of course drove down separately. The three cars pulled in one after another at the diner. Besides the giant yellow chicken, Stella couldn't miss the fact that Damien was there. His red jeep parked right next to them as evidence.

"Hey, isn't that Damien's?" Kit asked. Caleb already slammed the door shut on his way to his photo op, and Stella dropped her head back against her seat.

Kit went on. "What's the matter? I thought you wanted to get to know him better or something. Shouldn't you be happy he's here?"

"I don't care about him anymore. I don't want to see him."

"That's really strange. What happened? Oh my goodness, did something happen in the kitchen between you two yesterday? Did you see what I saw? Did he look like a monster? You did see." She squeezed Kit's arm in excitement. "That's why you were acting weird at dinner, and had locked yourself in the bathroom! You saw too!"

"No, I have no idea what you are talking about. The only monster I saw last night was the hag. Could you release your fingers from their death grip? My forearm's tingling." An image of Damien green and huge like the Incredible Hulk flashed through her mind, and she shuddered. Kit's excitement was a little creepy, Stella had to admit; she seemed completely sincere and sure of herself, of what she saw.

This was ridiculous. Stella grabbed her sunglasses off the dash, covered her eyes, and concluded she wasn't going to go inside the restaurant, anyway, so it didn't matter who Damien was. If he does have anger issues, then whatever. Have him blow up on some other girl than her. And if while angry he looks like the Incredible Hulk, then again he is that girl's problem. She leaned her seat back, and flipped down a visor to block the sun further, satisfied with her conclusion. Sort of.

A few minutes later, she could see her group mingling with Damien at his table. Even though they knew nothing about the almost-kiss or the rejection, she couldn't help but feel angry over their socializing. And she could hardly keep from watching the situation, so much so that when he glanced out the window, they locked eyes.

Time ticked slowly, and Stella finally turned the car on enough to be able to listen to the radio. She shut her eyes, waiting for the moment Kit and Caleb would return. Maybe they wouldn't even need to sneak back in Lady Shoemaker's, if she could help it. Then she remembered not only was her wallet left behind, but her diary, too. She could always call to replace her debit card, but there's no way to replace a couple year's worth of diary entries.

*

"What you're saying really happened?" Damien leaned forward in his booth. After his own situation as a werewolf, how could he deny the possibility that Mrs. Partridge had her own issues? He guessed he couldn't. Besides, Caleb and Gordon were nodding their heads with bugged-out eyes, and Maggie was mimicking the same wild expression. Kit even rattled on about what she saw, seemingly forgetting yesterday's drama.

A new text popped up on his cell phone. He ignored the message and instead focused on the time—11:30. What Stella's crew was asking of him would cut into his need to rush out of town by maybe a half-hour, at the most. He waited his whole life to meet his father. This was so unexpected. He was going to meet his father. It made him so nervous, he had to just sit at a booth at the diner and force some food down his throat to shake some of the initial shock off. And now Gordon, Caleb, Maggie and Kit were all talking about some sort of zombie or something that attacked them in the night?

"Alright," Damien finally said, "I'll be glad to help, but I gotta head out of town right after. So we have to be quick."

As they drove back to the little old house, Damien realized the group actually wished he was there with them last night. They hadn't been partying on the beach without him. He wasn't uninvited. What happened was, they were freaked out of their minds and just drove off far enough to feel safe before crashing. They were scared to death and could have used his help.

Less than ten minutes later, they were to their destination, making great timing. Damien figured he would hurry in, grab their things, help toss them in their cars, and speed off. He wasn't wanting any detours. The front door was open and creaking a little back and forth from a breeze. Everyone, including Stella, stood behind him waiting to ascend the porch steps and enter.

"We went through the bedroom window, not the front door," Maggie said.

"Yeah," others said in agreement. Damien couldn't help but notice how the others gripped onto each other in fear.

"It's okay. I'll go first," Damien offered. He stepped up and the door suddenly creaked and slammed shut. There was no denying it—he was now afraid too. He turned the knob and thrust the door open, more powerfully than anticipated. It snapped back shut, and cracked against the doorframe.

The girls screamed. Damien looked back, realizing a shriek also came from Caleb. "It's okay," he said. All the lights were out, and there were dark shadows in every corner, especially beyond the formal room into the dining room. He stepped across the threshold, into the old home anyway.

The others slowly followed behind, still huddled together. Damien asked, "Where is the body?"

Gordon said, "Down the hall, between our bedrooms."

"You all can just stay in here if you want." He'd rather have it that way anyway. Although they had bragged about Gordon's nun chuck skills or whatnot, he couldn't fathom the runt as his hero.

Not more than a second later, a grotesque smell assaulted his nostrils. One of the many cons to being a werewolf. A hypersensitive sense of smell could make him feel like throwing up over something as simple as some old dishes in a sink. And this stench was definitely like something rotting.

When he turned the corner to the hall, he flipped a switch, turning on a single light bulb in the ceiling. There was no body crumpled to the ground as described in the diner. There was no body at all. Some black streaked across the dark wood floor from where they said she would be. And that trail went along, under Damien, and down to the other end of the house. "There's nothing here but some slime or something."

"She's not there?" Maggie asked.

"No." He looked at the trail again, before opening the bedrooms. He saw the guys' stuff in a mess on the floor, and a dented lamp without its shade on a dresser. The girls' room was basically perfect except for some wrinkles on the bedspread and a carton of ice cream melted on the floor by some bowls.

"Is it safe?" Kit called.

Damien looked back and forth, inside each room again, before answering. "Yes."

"Ew, what is this?" Damien turned to see Maggie lifting a sneaker off the ground, and looking at the goop make a string of slime.

"Where's the body?" others asked.

Damien didn't answer. How was he to know? It was more of a rhetorical question anyway, even though he was curious too. He tossed the suitcases onto the bed, and not caring what was Gordon's and what was Caleb's, he flung the used socks, shirts and tighty-whities wherever. When he flung a pair of pants off the ground, it revealed something like a large remote control. It made a sudden loud beeping sound, which at first when covered by clothes, was so faint he thought it to be a watch's alarm going off. He picked the thing up and turned it all around, analyzing it. It blinked and beeped rapidly. Feeling eyes on him, he looked up to see Gordon and Maggie staring at him with mouths open. "What is this?" he asked.

"It's-it's-it's—" Gordon sputtered, and pulled at his collar, like he had a bow tie or something to loosen.

"It's mine," Maggie burst, and snatched it away. By that time, Kit was behind them, looking equally surprised.

"Well, what's the matter? What is it?"

"I said it's mine. And... it's none of your business. Okay, it's for my pacemaker, if you must know." She pressed it against her chest, and it continued to beep wildly.

"Pacemaker?" Did she see him a fool?

"Yes, a pacemaker." Her chin warbled, but she didn't cry. "If you must know, I have a bad heart. So bad in fact, that I had a triple bypass surgery. Well, when the doctors found that didn't solve all my problems, that the years of fast food and pizzas had a greater toll on me than expected, I was sliced open on an operating table, my life flashed before my eyes. I saw an angel under a halo of shining cheese pizza—or was it Weird Al? Anyway, he told me to hold on. That I had more to live for, and then my pacemaker kicked in! Without it I would have surely died."

Damien shifted his eyes from her to the others. They were blinking and looking stunned still. "I may be a jock," he said, "but give me some credit. I'm not stupid. You're hiding something from me."

Maggie suddenly shoved the machine into Gordon's hands and pulled her shirt down. A jagged silver scar went down the center of her chest. "See this here. It's evidence of my surgery. This machine beeps when my heart is going wild." She flipped the switch to shut it off. "All it is is a warning for me to settle down. It's the latest thing in heart surgery science, and I am lucky to have one. It's a bit big and clunky right now, but so were cell phones and other technology when they were new. It's just a prototype. Now if you don't mind, I need to calm down, get my heart back to its regular rate, and get out of here. This place still gives me the creeps."

Damien cocked an eyebrow at her and everyone else, but wouldn't argue it any further. Maggie actually had some sort of story and proof to go along with the remote, no matter how desperate and strange it all seemed.

And Stella suddenly appeared in the hall with the others. She was still wearing her sunglasses and her expression was solid like a statue. He hated the fact that she must hate him more than ever, especially after they made a one-hundred-eighty-degree complete turnaround. She had opened her heart to him, and he intentionally crushed it.

Oh well, he told himself. Oh well to it all. There was no time to argue with Maggie, and there was no time to dwell over hurting Stella—a girl he had to hurt for her own sake. He just had to get away from them all. He just had to leave to meet the man who could hold the answers to his cursed existence, his long lost father. With a heavy sigh, he said, "Let's hurry then."

When the last suitcase was thrown into the back of a car, Damien was once again fired up to get out of there, and move onto the next phase of his life and his questions. He did his last good deed there, and owed them nothing else.

Caleb, however, had a different idea. "You guys," he said excitedly, "the stain on the floor led to her bedroom. I say we go back inside and check it out. I mean, with Damien leading the way again, of course."

"What are you talking about?" Kit looked at him like that was the stupidest idea ever. "We need to just get out of here. I don't want to see her again. I don't want to look at her shriveled up corpse. That's disgusting, and I want no part in it. No, sir!"

"But don't you have more questions?" Caleb asked. "Like who dragged her across the hall in the first place? Did someone do that? Or did she come back to life, like the first time? She could be waiting in there to terrorize her next victims. And don't you think it strange how protective she was of her bedroom? I think it's our duty to check it out, maybe even take some pictures, and document the whole thing."

"Why?" Stella spoke around Damien for the first time since he left her at the beach. Even though her disapproval centered on someone else, he couldn't help but think the heat in her voice was stoked by his own behavior toward her. "Why is it our duty? We're just a group of teenagers. We're not police officers. We're nobody! We don't owe anything to anyone. Life dumps on you, and sometimes you just have to surrender. Just give up."

Those words fired up Damien. He didn't like the tone or the message Stella implied. There was a double meaning to it all, he was certain. And reading between the lines was something he was good at. So narrowing his eyes, he walked right over to her and said eye-to-eye, "No, that is not what you are supposed to do. When life pushes you, you push back. You hear me? You do not give up. You do what you can with what you got. Try and deal with things and make them better. Take control, even if it means hurting others you care so much about. You have to remember the bigger picture, own up and take the consequences like a man."

Everything became quiet. Even the breeze seemed to stop, and the trees withheld dropping their needles. Stella was speechless, and crossed her arms over her chest in response. Damien wiped his eyes, even though he knew there were no tears. But it was all he could think to do. He was exasperated. Exasperated with himself, with how those words were meant to rationalize what he did to Stella.

Caleb cut in, "...Does this mean we are going back inside?" Damien looked at him and then back to Stella. She averted her eyes away. If only he could tell her all that was on his mind. If only she knew what predicament he faced. In reality, though, telling her, or anyone for that matter, was not an option.

SEVENTEEN

Damien creaked open the master bedroom's door. It reeked more than anywhere else in the home, and a trail of the goo went right up to the bed. A quilt covered a bodily lump. "Hello," Damien spoke, just in case. He stood there a moment longer and knocked on the door now behind them to see if she would rise. "Hello? Good morning?"

There was no response and no movement.

"You say she's a zombie or something?" Damien asked.

"Yeah," Caleb said. He seemed more confident now, taking out his iPhone and snapping pictures, the flash going off in the dark, every couple seconds. "The slime is what splattered everywhere when Gordon drop-kicked her."

Damien slowly stepped across the wood floor to the bedside, his shoe making belching noises against the goo.

"Are you going to look at her?" Caleb whispered like he hoped it were true. He came right up behind Damien with his phone ready.

"Sure," Damien said. He was nervous, but curiosity overrode the feeling. His fingers pinched at the quilt, where he expected Mrs. Partridge's face to be covered. Caleb was already flashing pictures, like a bunch of lightning strikes in the darkness. The lump suddenly twitched, and Damien dropped the quilt, flinching back a step.

"Hello?" Damien said again. There was no response and no movement this time. "Stay back," he told Caleb. He was going to have another look. This time he would rip the covers off the thing in one sweeping movement. He reached over, grabbing a fist-full of the quilt, and—woosh—tore it off.

Up sprang a pale face with a flash of white teeth. "Wait," it said, "don't hurt me."

If it weren't for the desperate plea, Damien would have clocked it in the face. He watched the thing wrap its head with the covers like a shawl, protecting itself. Caleb fell back against a dresser, knocking off a vase of roses.

"What are you? Who are you?" Damien asked, not completely sure of what he should do. His fist was ready to still take him down for the count.

"It's a vampire," Caleb shrieked, furiously snapping photo after photo.

It covered its face from the flashing lights. "I'm not a vampire," he said. "I'm Seth Partridge, Erma's grandson."

"What are you doing?" Damien asked, still unsure of the situation. His heart was beating wildly against his chest, and he could feel an adrenaline rush pushing him to fight.

"Nothing, nothing. I have a medical condition that makes me hypersensitive to light." He shrank further under the covers. "Please don't hurt me. I've lived here for eighteen years while my grandmother cared for me. I've only left this room twice in my life: Once when I was four, and again at fifteen. She had to wrap me up in bandages so that only my eyes were visible to the sun. Mine's been a dejected existence."

"You're, uh, grandmother. Tell us about her. My friends say she attacked them in the night."

Now Seth was completely bundled up, so all they could see was a shivering outline of a body in a fetal position. There was silence for what felt like too long. Then Seth said, "I don't know what happened. There was a big commotion in the night. I heard screaming and yelling. Then there was silence. I waited here for hours before I went to go check on things. Without a spot of sunlight showing itself yet, I knew I was safe. I went down the hall, and to my horror, found Grandmother dead."

"My friends say your grandmother was a zombie."

It was silent again before Seth said, "Grandmother was very old, but she was no zombie."

Caleb said, "Explain the slime all over the floor!"

"The slime? It's Jell-o, and by now it has lost its form, making a gooey mess. Grandmother was carrying a bowl of Jell-o for me as a midnight snack. Please leave me be to die."

Damien eyed the shocked PAA member who was shaking his head in disbelief. Caleb said, "It was her guts! She was a zombie!"

Confused, Damien looked back over to the balled up form on the bed. It shook some more and whimpered. He turned back to Caleb and said, "What did you do? What did you guys do? There's no such thing as zombies."

*

"You guys have taken this whole paranormal thing too far." Damien chastised the group out front of the bed and breakfast. "The lady's grandson is in there right now crying his eyes out in her bedroom. She was not a zombie."

Stella couldn't believe it. She shrank like a child at his commanding voice, sat back on Kit's hood and dropped her head into her hands. Her mind flipped through last night's memories: The old woman in the hall, the lamp smashing into her, Maggie falling onto her bony frame, Gordon drop-kicking her, and green chunks flying everywhere. Could her over-active imagination have just connected everything so, so wrong? Did they kill an innocent woman?

Maggie said with defiance, "Damien, I saw her empty skull, and so did Stella. She had no brains."

"Did you really see that?" he asked Stella, skeptical.

Stella shook her head in her hands. She couldn't really be sure, could she? No, she couldn't. It was dark. Maggie was hysterical. It all went so fast. She looked up to Maggie, feeling heat across her face. "You compulsive freaking liar! What have you done? What have we all done? There's no such thing as paranormal monsters. Every single monster is made up. It's just some people are stupid enough to actually believe in it all. Even to the point of murdering an innocent life!" She rubbed her eyes in frustration, feeling her heart beat up in her throat. "To think I actually fell for it. To think I believed for even a moment that zombies were real." She looked each of her PAA members in the eyes, one at a time. "It's all fake, you fools. It's a load of crap. C-R-A-P. Crap!"

Gordon shifted his eyes away in meekness, wiping his nose. "Bigfoot is crap," she said sternly to him, then looked at Caleb. "Zombies are crap." Then to Damien. "And werewolves, too! To think you got suckered into this PAA mess, too, is ridiculous. We're fools. Fools!"

Kit went to affectionately rub Stella's upper arm, but Stella snapped back, "You are a fool, too, Kit. For believing it with me. For believing Mrs. Partridge was a monster. We were supposed to be the non-believers." Stella sucked in a breath and added, "We all need to do something about this situation. We need to confess."

Damien cut in, "I need to go head out of town. Something came up, and it can't wait."

Even though Stella knew he had absolutely nothing to do with what happened last night, that made her angry. The way he wanted to just flee the situation like that... "Then just go then, Damien. I'm sure you have other pressing matters, like getting back to your regular friends."

"Hey," Damien said. "I have to meet my father. If you, or anyone else here has a problem with it, then oh well. I have to go." With those words said, he hopped into his jeep, turned on the ignition and tore out of the parking lot with the blare of his rock music.

"Fine!" Stella yelled.

Everyone silently avoided looking at each other for a while. Stella could hear Maggie blubbering on the porch steps. Soon a station wagon, which wasn't Mrs. Partridge's, pulled into the lot, startling everyone. Maggie stopped her crying right away and said, "Act cool, guys. Act cool."

A portly man exited the driver's side, followed by a woman of equal size with a bouffant hairdo. She said, "Oh, doesn't this just look so charming, Ted? This will be perfect." She clapped and squealed. Ted nodded and tipped an imaginary hat to Stella and the others still gathered out front.

Maggie stood up straight and introduced herself to them, before they could ascend the steps. "Good afternoon. My name is Maggie Partridge, granddaughter to the Mrs. Partridge, who is off on sick leave. How do you do? How do you do?" She shook their hands with ease. "You two looking for a place to stay?"

"Yes," the man said.

"Oh, look at this porch," the woman cooed some more.

Maggie put her arms out to her sides, as if to gently tell them to stop in their tracks. "I'm afraid there is no vacancy tonight."

"No vacancy?" the woman repeated, disappointed. "Well, by golly. Where are we going to stay tonight?"

Maggie offered, "There's a Comfort Inn about thirty miles north of here. I hear it too comes with a continental breakfast. Some of the best donuts around, and coffee too! Did I say we don't have Cable, because we don't. Nope, not even a swimming pool. We're just your ordinary old home." She picked at some peeling pink paint on a porch beam. "Termites and all. See that?" She flicked the piece away and laughed.

"Oh, that's okay. We don't need all that. We went on vacation to get away from those things. The Comfort Inn just won't be the same," she retorted. "Don't you have one room left? What is your asking price? We'll offer double whatever it is."

"Double whatever it is?" Maggie repeated, as if that would make a difference. Stella pulled her sunglasses back over her hair like a headband and shot her a warning look. The rest of the group made frantic, private gestures as well. "I'm afraid double won't be enough. Perhaps triple?"

Stella cut in before things would get anymore out of hand. "Triple won't even be enough. I'm afraid there just isn't any room. I'm sorry."

"Who are you?" Ted asked Stella.

Maggie answered with an arm quickly around Stella's back. "This is... my sister, Stella Partridge. She's a pretty one, she is. Anyway, she's right; not even double the amount will do. So sorry, and better luck somewhere else."

Another car suddenly pulled into the lot behind them. Ted turned to eye them and grunted, but his wife continued to coo. "Oh, that will be fine! Won't it, honey? We'll pay quadruple. What will that be then? Four hundred for tonight?" She then said quieter to her husband, "That terrible rock slide is going to hole everyone up in this town. We better take this."

"Rock slide?" Stella repeated.

"Well, yes," the woman said, and Ted added gruffly, "You aren't going to raise the price on us again, are you? Four hundred should be more than enough, otherwise we might as well just sleep in our car tonight. We aren't going any higher. As it is, it's already highway robbery. Four hundred, take it or leave it."

People stepped out of the black sedan behind them. "Got vacancy?" they asked with a hopeful tone.

Maggie stepped back inside the house and motioned for Stella and the others to have a quick meeting. "It will just be a moment," she said to the husband and wife, before shutting the door.

Gordon flicked the formal room's lights on beside the foyer, and they each argued about whether or not they should let the couple stay. Maggie argued, "All we have to do is clean up the mess on the floors and cook them breakfast. They don't have to know a thing. You heard Damien—the young man in the master bedroom keeps to himself."

"We do not need the money," Kit said. "This is crazy. Tell them to go away while we figure all this stuff out, for Pete's sake."

Others interjected their disapproval before Maggie advised, "It would be good to have the money just in case. We have to stay out here until all this is resolved. Plus, I am all for having a couple more warm bodies staying the night with us. I don't know about you, but I am still scared out of my wits, whether or not Mrs. Partridge was a zombie. I would rather not have us stay here alone as a bunch of bumbling teenagers. Besides, you heard them—it's just for one night!"

"How do we keep this all a secret?" Gordon asked.

"Don't say anything, genius! We all just keep our mouths shut. Deal?"

Stella had to admit, Maggie made some good points. Now that Damien drove off with nothing left but a cloud of dust, she felt extremely vulnerable. This was a very scary situation. "They said there's a rock slide, right?"

"Yes," Maggie said.

"Ding Dong!" the doorbell rang. Stella moved the lace curtains to peek outside. The man and woman were now on the porch, expecting to be let in. Behind them, in the lot, were now several other hopefuls parking and getting out. "It's them," she said.

The next moment, Maggie whipped open the door and plastered the most cheesy smile on her face. "Good news! We've made room!"

EIGHTEEN

Another half-hour passed before Damien's jeep reached the men with orange flags. They motioned for him to turn around and go back the other way. He had a clear view of the piles of stony rocks that littered the two-way road, telling him there was no way he could meet his estranged father; not tonight anyway. This was just perfect.

There was an answer on the first ring. "Uncle...? Hi, no I'm actually stuck..."

When Damien finally got turned around, he drove slowly while passing the bed and breakfast, not intending to stop. A couple drops of rain against his windshield told him he better close the jeep's roof, and the sky was getting darker as clouds gathered together.

Static took over his radio station, and he flipped the channel until it cleared. Of all the songs it would land on, it just happened to be a Deathheads' ballad. He was about to angrily change it, placing his fingertips on the knob, but decided to leave it there. It had been quite a while since he listened to one of their songs, and he had to admit to himself he still liked it. In fact, it was a bit nostalgic. He pulled into the next turn-out of the road, switched the engine off and kept the music playing.

"It's a long road," he sang along with passion, "till you make it to the eeeend. When you find yourself there, you don't have to preteeeend. Whoa oh ohhhh." His index fingers rattled against his steering wheel to the drum solo that followed. "You don't have to preteeeend!"

When the song ended with the last warbling guitar chord, the DJ came on. "You're listening to Wild 101.3, where we play all classic rock all the time. The Deathheads reunion tour is kicked off, and to celebrate these gods of rock, we're playing all their songs from their greatest hits album back-to-back, all night long. That's right, it's a Deathheads' marathon all night loooong.

"And stay tuned, because Rock will be in our studio at eleven-thirty. That's right; Rock will be talking with us live in our studio at eleven-thirty, answering your questions."

Damien leaned his seat all the way back and put his hands behind his neck. Rather than fight it, he'd let himself enjoy the band whose symbol was now mysteriously tattooed onto his back, the band that Stella made clear was her favorite of all-time. And soon he was drifting away into dreamland.

~~~~

Damien blinked and lifted off the headrest. The lead singer, Rick the Rock, of The Deathheads sat beside him in the passenger seat. "Rise and shine, bud," the man said, hair big and wild, wearing a leather vest with matching black eyeliner.

Surprised, Damien flinched back against his door. In doing so, he saw the two other members of the band sitting in his back seat. "What's going on? Am I still dreaming?"

"Something like that," Rock said. "It's been a long time since you've listened to our music. Why is that, bud?"

"Um." Damien rubbed his forehead, and couldn't believe how real it all felt. "I changed, I guess, and got interested in other things."

"Other things?" Rock had a mischievous twinkle to his eye, like he knew. "Like surfing and girls. And I can't forget video games, right? And girls..."

Damien nodded, but stopped himself. "I still like the surfing and my X-Box, but I'm done with girls for a while."

There was a cynical smile in return. "Girls ain't the problem. Take it from me, a bona fide rock star, that when you think you are done with girls, it really means you are done playing with the wrong girls." He patted Damien's shoulder. "That Stella girl is a huge fan of us."

"Yeah, I know."

"Smart girl, that one."

Damien shook his head. "Yeah, well, it's not like I can be with her, or anyone for that matter... until I can solve my problem." He knew his dream-mates would automatically know his predicament. It felt good mentioning it to someone else, even if they were all just in his head.

"You're looking at it all the wrong way, bud. What you think is a curse is pretty rad, if I do say so myself." The guys in the backseat nodded their heads in agreement and offered their affirmatives. Damien couldn't take it seriously, though. They had no idea what it felt like to be a werewolf.

Rock went on. "And about all that nonsense on changing and growing up—I remember when you were just a child, dancing all crazy in your undies, pretending you were one of us. Those were the days, weren't they?"

Damien chuckled at that. "Ma liked you guys a lot."

"Well so did you. We were sorta like super heroes to you, weren't we? You even had our dolls."

Damien cocked an eyebrow.

"Excuse me, I meant action figures. You even played with our action figures. Yes, those were the days." Rock smiled and suddenly that nostalgic feeling that came over Damien while listening to the marathon swept through him again. "In your heart," Rock poked Damien's chest, "you are still a Deathheads' fan. You can try and forget, try to pretend, but there ain't nothing you can do about it. The music is imprinted in your heart."

It felt true, all of it. The music was in his heart, for sure, just like as a child. This dream had to be the best he'd had in a long time. For once, he was proud of the tattoo on his back. The next moment, the Deathheads transformed into werewolves, each one of them, still wearing their leather. They laughed and laughed in joy before howling in harmony and fading away....

~~~~

"Buzzzzz." The cell in Damien's pocket vibrated. "Buzzzzz." It went off again. He wiped his eyes and felt for the thing through his sleepiness, surprised that it was already dark out. What a weird dream that was.

"Hello?" Damien answered groggily. It was his Uncle Leo again. "What? He says he's coming down here to meet me...? He says he'll be here as soon as possible? Did he say why he couldn't wait...? No? And he knows where I am...? Okay, but the rockslide I told you about is still there." He looked at the row of red brake lights as far as his eyes could see. "Maybe it will be cleared by then, I don't know... Thanks, Uncle. I guess I'll stay put."

The news actually made Damien feel better. He wouldn't have to wait any longer to meet up with his dad, because his dad would come to him. But when he caught sight through his rain-splattered windshield, of the moon hovering above the hillside, panic struck.

NINETEEN

The rain finally decided to shake itself loose from the gray clouds all at once in showers that rapped hard against the bed and breakfast's roof. Caleb and Gordon had diligently worked on a fire in the fireplace with some chopped wood already there waiting to be lit. When it raged so much they had to hurry and close the glass before flames licked their way out, the two gave each other high fives.

Ted and Marsha were dressed in some night clothes with matching bunny slippers, and took ownership of two overstuffed chairs beside the hearth. All the goo was mopped up, the floors rather smelling like Pine-Sol than what Stella had to admit formerly had a fragrance like lime Jell-o. Maggie had spent much of the time being an overzealous hostess, chattering up a storm with the guests, offering cheese and crackers, and passing out brochures to occupy them out in the formal room.

Kit wore some rubber gloves and was busy cleaning some dishes leftover from the night before, including the ice cream bowls and spoons from their bedroom. "In that drawer there are clean washcloths," she told Stella. "You can use one to wipe down the counters."

"The counters look clean," Stella said.

"Yeah, they do, but I just feel gross now in this house. I feel like double and triple washing everything. Oh no. Are we going to talk to the police about this right away? They may think we're tampering with evidence by cleaning all this. What do you think?"

"At this point, I don't know what to think." Stella pulled out a washcloth with a hummingbird embroidered on a yellow background. "I mean, yes, we do need to tell the police about all this, but obviously not tonight." She squirted some dish detergent onto the little towel, bubbled it up with water, then got to work wiping the white tiles.

"This is so unfair." Kit stopped scrubbing a plate and turned around, folding her arms across her chest. "You and I didn't hurt Mrs. Partridge. It was all Maggie and Gordon. We did nothing, but I'm afraid we'll get into trouble too, now."

"Kit, we were all acting crazy last night. I seem to remember you telling Caleb to throw the lamp at her."

"What are you saying? That I was in a conspiracy to murder? You saw the lady. She was more freaky than ever last night. And what was with how she cracked herself up off the floor and acted like everything was dandy candy, even offering to make us pancakes! If I had asked her to put syrup on them in a happy face, I'm sure she would have obliged."

"Shhhh." Stella stopped wiping. "Kit, I know, I know. Maybe she was in shock. But listen, don't worry about it. We were afraid, and I believe we acted purely out of fear and self defense. They have to take that into consideration."

"They do?"

"Sure they do..."

Kit came over and wrapped her arms around Stella and cried. "I hate this place. I can't wait to be home. And you were right; I can't believe I thought Mrs. Partridge was a zombie." Stella patted her on the back and held onto her for a while before breaking apart and getting back to work.

Stella rinsed her washcloth and moved to the island. As she turned a corner, she noticed a couple tiles with hairline cracks through them. She scrubbed them extra, recalling what Kit said she witnessed of Damien's rage. Now he was just another guy to add to the pile of let-downs. When would she learn to really get to know a guy before opening her heart? And, still, after everything she and Damien went through, a lone butterfly fought to take flight within, trying to get her heart to flutter over the moment they had in the kitchen, and over the moment they had at the beach.

Stella joined Maggie and Kit back in the kitchen to go over dinner plans. Thankfully Mrs. Partridge's grocery shopping gave them more to choose from.

Caleb soon entered with a plate filled with cheese and crackers. "He won't touch a bite. I don't know what's wrong."

Stella took the plate and put it in the refrigerator for him while Kit responded, "He probably doesn't have much of an appetite, after finding out his grandmother's dead. This is so terrible, him being all alone in there for all these years. No social life whatsoever. Has never seen the sun. Maybe we should invite him to come out to dinner with us."

Stella shook her head, and got busy chopping onions. "I doubt he wants to have dinner with us, let alone see us at all. We're a bunch of cretins."

Maggie finished tying an old apron around her wide waist, and said, "Caleb, he knows it was an accident, doesn't he? He doesn't think we are actual murderers, does he?"

"Huh, I hope not. I don't know what's going on in his head. He doesn't want to talk to me. His last words to Damien and I were he wanted to be left alone to die."

"That doesn't sound good," said Maggie, finally successful with tying a bow behind her back. "Did he tell you what he did with the body? We've checked everywhere, and couldn't find her."

"N-no." Caleb wiped some hair out of an eye. "I didn't think to ask him that. I already feel strange trying to feed him crackers when he doesn't want anything."

Stella stopped mid-chop, and rubbed the stinging sensation of the onion's fumes from her eyes. "I think we should leave him alone tonight. He'll be fine without some food and water for a bit. We can try again tomorrow."

"You know," Maggie cut in, "if he commits suicide, then that's more blood on our hands."

That was a legitimate worry. They each looked at other seriously, awaiting an answer. Stella put down her knife and said, "We can take turns staying in the room with him."

"Like on suicide watch?" Maggie asked.

Stella hated the sound of it, but it was what it was.

*

Dinner was proving to be a successful event, with the fire alarm having gone off just once in its preparation. Stella came out of the kitchen with the two other girls, carrying pots with hot pads. Marsha was already cooing, taking her seat right away and coddling her husband to sit down. Ted didn't need to be told twice, as he already rubbed his stout belly in anticipation.

"We do hope you enjoy," Maggie said, placing her dish down last. She removed the glass lid and steam swirled out. It was a mish-mash of tortillas and beans with beef, layered with melted cheddar cheese. Stella couldn't believe their luck when they saw the new package of burritos in the freezer, and applauded Maggie for her quick thinking and super mixing skills.

"Interesting," Marsha said. "What do you call it?"

"Um, well, it's a Mexican dish, and I confess I can't pronounce it."

"Can someone else pronounce it?" Ted asked. "It truly looks very interesting."

Kit gave an attempt. "El Burr...uh..." And Stella cut in, "Burratas."

"Wouldn't that be 'Las Burratas'?" Ted took heaping spoonfuls, one after another.

"Si," Kit said with a nervous giggle.

Stella took the lid off her pot, and a puff of black smoke erupted out. Inside was supposed to be fluffy white rice. Instead, a bunch of water bubbled around white clumps, and she didn't want to guess whether or not the rice were hard or tender. The charred ring around it all made her pretty sure of the answer, though.

"Ohhhh." Marsha's eyes lit up big and wide. "Would you look at this, Ted? It's an authentic Mexican pudding. It reminds me of the dessert we had that one time in Puerto Vallarta. Remember that cruise, Ted?"

He sniffed at it appreciatively.

"Yes," Maggie said fast. "That it is. A pudding. And it may seem as though the dish was burned, but just like a good fillet mignon, it needs a little fire to get it going."

"It's beautiful." Marsha eagerly scooped some onto her plate in a drippy, sticky mess. "See, honey, I knew this place would be worth every single cent." She then looked at Stella and said, "We've been celebrating our twentieth wedding anniversary. I am so happy we found this place. Like a cherry on top of our vacation."

TWENTY

Thunder and lightning continued to crash throughout the night. Damien sat out in the storm, at the edge of the ocean, feeling the warm rain spray through his fur. He looked up to the moon and gave a long howl of mourning. The brake lights along the swerving road behind him disappeared, as all the cars were free from the traffic jam. Apparently the rock slide was taken care of. His father would be in town in less than an hour, and he hated the fact that he had no choice but to stand him up. After all these years. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

Thoughts led to the strange dream with the Deathheads, and how they said his condition was "rad." No, he couldn't think of anything worth celebrating when it came to being part dog. He looked at his waterproof watch and decided he had enough time to at least catch a few waves, though.

The sea was black and the waves were high, rolling and crashing louder than ever. Damien's surfboard thrust through the swells, to catch a ride. Balancing on top of an especially monstrous wave, he bent his hairy knees and his thighs bulged like never before, looking like muscle grew on top of muscle. In the distance lightning spider-webbed into the water, illuminating turquoise patches.

When finished, he shook the water out of his fur, drove to the bed and breakfast, and parked along the road, hiding his jeep with rows of trees. The lights were still on, and the front room's curtains were open, showing a man and woman sitting in front of a fire. He also saw the new addition in the lot. They had visitors. For a moment he wondered if it was his father in the blue and white striped pajamas. Had he already arrived? He looked at his watch. It was 10:15. Uncle Leo said not to expect him until around 11:30. Maybe he made really good timing. The PAA wouldn't open the home up to just anybody, would they? Who would the woman be? His father's wife? His stepmom?

If Damien wasn't going to meet his father face-to-face, he wanted to at least get a good look at him. He shut his jeep's door quietly on the way out. The air had that moist feeling after rain lets up, and now all his nose seemed to pick up was the scent of wet bark. He crept to about five feet from the front window, and crouched in a bush, peeking through its leaves to inside the house.

The man was pretty big and didn't have much hair. Damien watched him puff a pipe and talk to the woman. He felt no connection to him, didn't think they looked anything alike. Then he saw the bunny-foo-foo matching slippers the man and woman both wore. "No way is he my father," he said. So the PAA let some strangers in, after all. They apparently made themselves comfortable, ready for the evening to spend the whole night. Strange. When Kit walked out of the kitchen, seemingly fine with it all, he felt better about the intrusion.

A moment later it felt as if several eyes were on Damien, watching his every move. But now he couldn't see anyone but the strangers, and they were busy talking to each other. Kit had walked away. He turned around to eye the parking lot and forest, just in case. Yes, there were definitely eyes on him, but from where exactly he couldn't tell.

His ears picked up a sound of heavy breathing, then a twig snapped in the distance. Damien whipped his whole self around, and crouched, darting his eyes every which way. Then he heard running, multiple feet stampeding away through the brush. There was no time to think further. He took off running in the direction of the sounds. His bare feet were padded so well it didn't hurt to tramp along rocks and sticks and stickers at great speed. The trees whooshed by at tremendous speed. He thought he had gained on the stampede, but they soon were farther from earshot, proving that although he had been fast, he wasn't fast enough. When he returned to his jeep, he rested, waiting for his heart beat to slow to its normal rate.

*

Stella offered to watch Seth next. It would be best to do her duty and get it done with. She kept the lights out but opened the heavy drapes to let in the moon's glow. Still, she had to step around the room slowly to not trip. There was no expectation of actually talking to the grandson, currently covered from head to toe under the bedspread. Her cell phone would occupy her time while sitting on the carpet at the foot of the bed. Fingers flicked fast across a word puzzle. After that, she'd probably move onto a game of matching colored jewels. The field trip definitely took some unexpected routes.

But after just a few rounds of her game, the bed springs creaked. The mirror attached to the dresser across from her, gave view of the lump stirring around, tossing and turning. The whole thing suddenly felt so eerie. Kit should have joined her.

Suddenly, he spoke in a soft, high tone. "What's your name?"

Stella opened her mouth but it took a moment for her name to come out. "Stella."

"Stella?" he repeated. "That's a lovely name."

The phone's screen went dark from lack of activity, and the shadows in the room moved in on her. "Thank you," she forced out.

"My grandmother's dead," he said.

"I'm... really sorry." For a moment, she wondered if that was a warning. Would he jump out at her and get revenge?

Seth stirred a bit more, and then paused. "Tell me about your life... out there."

"My life?" What would she say? "I'm sixteen, and I go to high school..."

"Ah, yes. I have read about school. Tell me, what's it like? Do you like it?"

There wasn't much good she had to say, but to tell that to someone who could never experience it, seemed very ungrateful. "Sure, there's a lot to like, I guess. School has lots of other teens to get to know. You're able to make lots of friends and study lots of subjects."

It sounded like he sighed to that. "What about dating. Have you dated? Please tell me, if you don't mind. It's just I can only dream of what that would be like."

Of all the things to ask her about. Her mind whirred with all the memories, especially the ones with Damien. "Yes, I've dated a few guys. Dating is much like a rollercoaster though, where things are usually really high or really, really low. I'm sorry... I guess I shouldn't have brought up roller coasters, since you've probably never ridden one."

"No, it's okay," he assured. "I enjoy hearing it all. I can live vicariously to a certain degree. In here, in my imagination, the world is at my fingertips. I haven't talked to someone other than my grandmother in so long. Please go on. What was your last boyfriend like? Was he handsome? What did you like best about him?"

For whatever reason, she thought to describe Damien. She knew they were not literal boyfriend and girlfriend, but their recent drama had to amount to something. "Very handsome," she said dryly.

"Why is that, if you don't mind? Was it is eyes, his hair, a combination? Do tell... I know it really isn't my business, but I can't help but ask. Please forgive me."

It didn't feel inappropriate at all. If anything, it made her feel so sorry for the soul. Seth's existence was so sad, so terrible, she would be nothing but rude if she refused to share. "His hair is a shiny dark brown, almost black. And his eyes are a deep brown. His smile is really bright, and it lights up his eyes really nice."

The bed creaked again, and Seth could be heard clearing his throat. "Black hair and brown eyes?"

"Yeah..."

"Please tell me more. What was his name?"

"...Damien."

"What makes... Damien so special, if you don't mind?"

Stella took a deep breath and shook her head. "That's the thing. I thought he was special, but found out differently today."

"Today?" he said with some excitement.

"Yes. He's gone now, and we're over. So..." She thought then to change the subject. "Would you like some dinner?"

"No," he said right away. "...Excuse me; it's just that with the death of Grandmother, I can't imagine taking one bite of any offering."

Stella could imagine that were true. "I'm sorry I asked."

"Don't be. What I would really like is to take my mind off of her passing. I would very much enjoy keeping our conversation going."

"...Okay." Stella put her phone in her pocket and then fingered her long hair, bracing herself to continue. "What else would you like to know?"

"What was your boyfriend before him like?"

Billy? She really didn't want to go there, but decided she could keep things pretty vague. "Billy was not a good boyfriend."

"Did he love you?"

"No, he didn't." That darn chill went down her back that always came when talking about her past. "Maybe we can discuss something else. How about my favorite music?"

"Did he not say he loved you?"

Ugh. "He said he loved me, but that doesn't mean it was true."

"Why not?

"Guys lie, like all the time. Especially him."

It was silent for a long moment, and she leaned a hand back behind her, keeping an eye on the mirror. She touched something that felt like a shoe. She went to shove it aside, but it wouldn't go. She looked down under the edge of the bed frame. It was a shoe, actually two, orthopedic Mary Jane's. And they were attached to ankles with black stockings. "Seth...?" She wasn't sure if she should ask it. Gosh, it was so gross. "Is your grandmother under the bed?"

To her surprise the guy sat up, dropping the covers. In the mirror they made eye contact. It was still dark in the room, even with the moonlight as their companion, but Stella's blood turned cold as she recognized the chiseled features and deep-set eyes. "Billy?"

"Stella, don't be afraid." He was quickly at her side with a hand around her mouth. It just made her freak out more. She did not want him seeing her, touching her. And his breath smelled like dirt. "Please," he went on, "I do love you... I just need to make things up to you. How can we be together? You have to tell me how. I'll remove my hand, but if you scream or run, Stella, you'll leave me no choice but to hurt you. Do you understand? You can't let the others know I'm here."

She nodded, just to appease him, and pulled his icy fingers off her lips, trembling the whole time. "Billy, please... I broke up with you. I moved away from you. When I said we were over, I meant it. What do I have to do?"

"I need to hear that you love me again."

"But I don't. And I won't ever."

"Listen, love, I have a surprise for you, but you have to be a good girl and stay right there. Just stay put a moment while I grab it for you. It surely will make you happy." He nearly leapt to the other side of the room, and was back in less than a second. His eyes were super intense. "Can you believe I got these for you? They are your favorite." In his hand was a single rose. "It's black, love. Black. Just like you wanted. I figured out how to make them."

Stella cautiously stood up, and said, "I-I don't want them. I'm going to go back out to my friends n-now, Billy."

He flashed against her, pinning her back against the dresser. It made a clatter, and a perfume bottle shattered, sending its potent gardenia fragrance into the air. "Stella, I need you. It's not fair. I need you." He breathed close to her nostrils sending another whiff of dirt her way.

"Ouch," she moaned, feeling a spasm up her back from her tailbone. "You're hurting me..."

Billy let up just barely. At least that stopped the spasm. But he then pressed his cold hands across her forehead and cheeks, back and forth, like she was play-dough. "If only you would be with me, be like me. You'd understand."

"What do you mean?" Her voice shook.

"I'm so very cold all the time. I need a warm body to cuddle up to."

"Can't you just buy a jacket... or get a heater or something? Leave me alone."

He laughed a crazed kind of laugh, dropping his head back. "If only I could cure it with a heater."

"You chose to work in a morgue in freezers all day."

Billy narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, before saying, "You can't really be that gullible, love."

"What... do... you... mean?"

"You saw me that night."

"That night at the morgue? Yes, of course. What?"

"I entered through a window. A window, dear. You never wondered why?"

Stella retraced her memory. "I figured you forgot your keys or something. What? Tell me."

"Say what else you saw. What else did you see me do?"

"Y-you pulled one of the bodies out of your freezer."

"...Then what?" He rolled around a hand, motioning for her to get on with it already.

The scalpel flashed through her mind, and his maniacal look of glee over the body. "A... scalpel."

"Very good. So, let's rerun this again, shall we?" He smiled stupidly. "You watched me enter the morgue through a window—not a door—and proceed with tools to cut open a cadaver."

"You mean you didn't really work there...?"

"So gullible. Either that or dense, or both. No, my love, I didn't work there. I never worked there. Didn't you see the news about the missing bodies?"

"...I don't watch the news." But things were starting to piece together for her in a whole new way now.

"You're the president of Paranormal Addicts Anonymous, and you never had a clue? This is priceless."

"...So what you're saying is, you're not Billy of BSU, who worked part-time at the morgue?"

"Oh, my name is Billy. I never lied about that. Billy Butte, however. B-U-T-T-E; the U is a long vowel."

"You're last name isn't Esquire?"

He chuckled over that. "No. Esquire just sounds better, my love. Girls always fantasize about taking on their boyfriend's last name. I couldn't have you imagine telemarketers calling our home and asking for a Mrs. Butt, now could I?

"You make a good point," she had to admit.

"I know I do. See, most people are too stupid to know that when there is an E at the end, it changes the sound of the U. I got tired of explaining it over and over for the last hundred years."

"Hundred years? So, who are you? What are you?"

He smiled big, and exhaled the dirt smell again. "You know what I am, Stella. Just say it."

Goodness gracious, she couldn't help but think of the scene where Edward Cullen demands Bella Swan to just say who he was. Say it, he had seethed into her ear in the forest. There wasn't much of a difference here, now, was there? Only this was real, and doubly creepy. "I don't believe in this stuff."

"Well, you better start believing now. Go ahead and say it out loud, baby."

"A vampire." There. She did it. So much for being a freaking non-believer. Maybe the lady under the bed had been a zombie after all. Suddenly she had the great desire to see Damien again. To have him come through the window and sweep her away from this disgusting mess. They could make out under the stars and live happily ever after. Under the circumstances, she conveniently forgot his rejection.

Billy shaking his head, startled her out of that fantasy. "What do you mean?" Stella asked. "I was wrong? What do you want me to say, then?"

He pointed at his incisor teeth, and said, "I would make for a pitiful vampire, don't you think? I couldn't suck a drip through these things. And if only it were that easy. If it were that easy, I wouldn't have to sneak into morgues and cut people up. So you are wrong again. Come on, PAA president. Use your knowledge."

"You're... a zombie."

TWENTY-ONE

Wham! A pale guy slammed into the hood of Damien's jeep, running from something in the woods. His eyes were wild, as he looked up from his crumpled position to Damien's beastly face. Then he hunched over and limped away fast, crossing the road, down toward the beach. A few other people—or creatures?—chased after him, too quick to see. Damien sat up straighter, and reran the images over in his mind. What in the world just happened?

A black Lincoln pulled into the bed and breakfast's lot a few minutes later, crunching the wet gravel, stealing his attention. Expecting it to be his father, Damien got back out of his jeep quietly, and moved closer within the trees. A tall man exited the car, with a black trench coat and matching hair slicked into a ponytail. He rang the doorbell, despite the "No Vacancy" sign. It had to be him. Damien looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes earlier than expected. Yes, it had to be him.

The man entered after someone invited him inside. Damien stepped right up to the home, peeking closer than before through the formal room's window. Thankfully the man and woman with matching slippers had gone off to bed. It gave him a clear view to the dining room. He watched who he was certain was his father remove his coat and hang it on a rack, and be escorted to sit at the table by Maggie. Maggie disappeared into the kitchen right away and came back out with a glass of water for him, which he gratefully took. Damien still couldn't see his face, as his back was facing him, but when Stella suddenly appeared, coming down the hall from the master bedroom, the man turned to address her.

Stella was visibly shaken up and her face was whiter than usual. The man stood and looked down to her eye-to-eye, concerned. He gently put a hand to her shoulder and asked her a few more things, to which Stella vacantly nodded. Damien could make out his profile. His nose was sloped the same as his own, and he guessed they were probably the same height, by how his chin came to Stella's forehead. Stella was offered a seat and the two continued to talk.

Damien could feel a wolf whimper try to escape his throat. His father was so handsome, and looked so caring. The way he was obviously consoling Stella, a stranger, was really touching. He could only imagine how his father would react to seeing him, his son. A slight reflection of a wolf face looked back at him, and he slumped down to the ground and wiped his wet eyes with the back of his large, furry hands. He then dug his pointed nails into the dirt, and grabbed fistfuls of dirt. A pitiful life to bear. A Jekyll and Hyde curse.

*

Stella couldn't help but shed a tear. This was supposedly Damien's father, yet he felt so familiar to her, like she knew him somehow. "Excuse me."

"You don't have to apologize for crying," he said. "This ex-boyfriend sounds like a real creeper. I'll keep a watch on the place tonight. You don't have anything else to fear."

"Thank you." That actually did make her feel better. Billy took things further than ever before, threatening to change Stella to be just like him. "What happened to wanting a warm body to snuggle up to?" she had asked. "Forget it. I'll take you, hot or cold. And I'll do what I can to make you mine." When Gordon then knocked on the master bedroom's door, he fled through the window, vowing to follow up on his intentions to make her his for forever.

Maggie rounded up the rest of the PAA, and they stood awkwardly around the table as if they wanted to also say something to make her feel better, but there was nothing they could say. Stella got the best consolation from Mr. Capernalli. "Sorry Damien's not here," Stella said.

"Oh, he's here. Somewhere." he said. "I talked to his Uncle Leo earlier, and he told me he'd wait around town for me. He probably has cold feet. It's been forever since I've seen him, he probably has no memories. But I'm sure he'll come around."

Maggie cut in. "If you don't mind me asking, why did you leave Damien, and at such a young age?"

"It was his mother's wish."

"His mother's wish?" Caleb asked, and Gordon gave a cock-eyed expression.

"Yes, it was. But now that Damien's almost eighteen, I'm sure his mother would approve."

Stella asked, "Where's his mother?"

"Hangin' with the other angels in Heaven."

Stella remembered how Damien was in such a rush earlier to meet his father. She had no clue it was like this, that he hadn't seen his father since he was a baby. Again she berated herself for having been so judgmental. If she were in his shoes, she would have cut out ASAP, too.

For another hour or so, Mr. Capernalli was a calming strength in the bed and breakfast. He eventually settled in front of the warmth of the fireplace and said he wanted to learn more about them all, Damien's "friends." No one got out of hand, monopolizing the conversation, talking over each other, calling names, or putting anyone down. It was very respectful, and a bonding moment for them all. Stella was especially surprised that Mr. Capernalli's presence conjured up a myriad of confessions.

Maggie started of course, talking about her compulsion to lie. "Plus," she said, "when others show some significant humor or talent or smarts, I feel even greater moments of low self esteem. I know this is why I treat Gordon so terribly..."

Gordon pushed his glasses up his nose with a look of interest, and Maggie continued, "I'm sorry, Gordon. You are extremely smart, which you know already. You didn't deserve all the quips I've made about you, and I probably deserved that Mountain Dew down my chest. It's just that you're the most amazingly skilled person I've met, and three years younger than me."

The nerd gave a cute little smile, and said, "Apology accepted." Gordon went on about how he always felt like he didn't fit in anywhere. He always got along with adults, because of his brains, but it wasn't until the PAA formed that he had something in common with his peers.

Kit spoke next. "I'm really happy Caleb and I came here instead of Comic-Con. I won't ever dare you to do anything again, Stella, after what we put you through. Also, I can't wait to take you to the Deathheads concert, and especially the Meet and Greet. I know how long you have been raving about seeing them, and I should have never used that against you, to get you to ask Damien out on a date."

After Stella gave Kit a hug, all eyes went to Caleb, who was twiddling some of his hair around a finger. "What?"

"Don't you have anything to say?" Kit nudged.

"Other than I gotta go pee?"

Kit pushed his arm, and Stella rolled her eyes with a laugh.

Caleb said, "I don't really have anything to confess. What you see is what you get, and I think I'm a pretty cool friend to you all."

"Oh, please!" Kit said, then took his twiddling finger out of his hair and locked it affectionately in one of her own. "You guys, Caleb has an announcement to make..."

Caleb finished with perfect timing, "I'm pregnant," and everyone laughed. "Okay, okay, I'm kidding. Kit is my giiiirlfriend."

Stella couldn't believe she had no clue what was happening right under her nose. "Congratulations," she said, and gave them both a hug at the same time.

Mr. Capernalli, although having just met everyone, smiled in satisfaction. "I think Damien has a great group of friends, if I do say so myself."

Stella was pretty certain he wasn't friends with any of them anymore, if he was even to begin with. Out of respect, though, she nodded.

When Stella's friends came in her room to stay up late together, she had her own confession to get off her chest. "Guys, you heard me talk to Damien's dad about my ex, Billy. There's more you should know... And while I'm at it, I should also say I know where Mrs. Partridge's body is."

TWENTY-TWO

Earlier, while Damien sat in the dirt under the formal room's window, an image flashed through his mind. The pale man who had slammed against his jeep's hood, was bound and lying on the beach. Damien pressed his palms against his eyes and shook his head. He then got a picture of the location. Rocks were piled in such a way he recognized it to be where he had slept and surfed. To prove whether or not there was something to the vision, he took off running.

Thighs bulged through his jeans as he descended the steep slope off the side of the road, down to the beach below. He hopped from one large rock to another, feeling his toes grip and his nails scratch along as he went. Once he came to the right spot, he slammed down to the ground, spraying sand all around him from the force.

The pale guy was there... and alone. He spit out some of the sand. There was no way he could wipe his mouth, since his hands and feet were tied with cords. "Please don't hurt me."

Those words instantly reminded Damien of when he threw the covers off Seth Partridge, another pale guy. "Seth?"

The white face raised its eyebrows as if surprised. "Uh... yes, yes. You aren't going to hurt me, are you?"

Damien crouched down and shook his head, remembering how scary he must appear as his wolf self. He may look like a monster, but he didn't feel in his heart he was a monster. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"How do you know my name?"

Damien had to think fast. He couldn't reveal his identity to someone basically a stranger. Instead, he asked, "What happened to you?"

"I climbed out my bedroom window this evening to go for a walk while the sun was still sleeping, when it is safest for me. I'm allergic to the sun's rays. Anyway, a... gang of thugs chased after me, and I took off running. Was it your jeep I ran into?"

"Yeah..." Damien nodded.

"Sorry about that."

"You don't have to say sorry for that. Go on..."

"Well, when the thugs caught me, they found I had no money, not even a wallet. So they took me down to this beach and tied me up. They said they were going to come back and light me on fire for their troubles. They'll be back soon. Please unloose me... quick!"

Something in Damien's gut told him not to do it, not to unloose him. "Will you promise to not tell anyone you've seen me?"

"Yes, yes. Certainly. You are my hero. It will be our secret forever."

Damien slid his muscular fingers through the ropes and easily ripped them apart.

"Thank you, my hero."

"Go head back to the house."

"That I will surely do. Wait..., can I know my hero's name?"

"...Damien."

TWENTY-THREE

Sunshine poured through the kitchen's window, warming Stella. She hoped it was a sign of better things to come, but knew better. Last night had been just the beginning of another real nightmare.

Maggie whipped eggs in a large bowl at great speed. "Well, we got their four-hundred bucks last night," she said. "All that is left is to feed them their breakfast and we are done."

Kit poured pancake mix onto a sizzling skillet. "Technically guests don't leave a place until eleven, right?"

"Yes," Maggie agreed. "They could be here all the way until eleven on the dot, check-out time. But basically, after feeding them, we are done hosting to their every whim. Now we've got to think about what to do with the body."

Stella nearly choked on her juice. "What do you mean? Can't we just leave her where she's at?"

Maggie paused her stirring. "No. I'm thinking we have to bury her."

"Bury her?!" Stella and Kit burst.

"Think about it. If we leave her to further rot under that bed, the circumstances could come back to bite us. We need to cleanly wrap things up here before we head home. The police could easily hold an investigation that would lead to us. Even though we know she is a zombie, others won't believe that."

"How can the cops know about us?" Kit asked. "We can just burn her bookkeeping records."

"Trust me," Maggie said with her usual look of authority, "I wrote her a check from the PAA's account. They'll find out through her account that we were the last ones here. Plus... we don't want Damien's father to find her after we leave, do we?"

*

Caleb shoveled the last mound of wet dirt behind him, then leaned against the tool's long handle. Mrs. Partridge's body lay next to the shallow grave, completely wrapped in a quilt. All was silent except for a woodpecker hammering away at a nearby pine tree.

"Alright, well let's hurry and bury her," Maggie finally said.

A voice trilled in the distance, from behind. "Helloooo!" They all turned to see it was Marsha, dressed in shorts and a sun hat which brimmed wide around her full face. "Toodle-loo!"

"What do we do?" Kit squeaked.

"Aren't they supposed to be gone?" Gordon whined.

Stella automatically turned to Maggie, as did the others.

"It's okay. Be normal," she said.

Ted soon followed behind, also in shorts.

"You all were such wonderful hosts, we wanted to thank you before leaving." The woman extended her hand to Maggie. "We are so sad it's over. We had an amazing time." Ted agreed, and offered his hand.

Stella could see Marsha's eyes suddenly fix on the rolled-up bundle at their feet. "What's that?" she asked, and her eyes led to the debit in the earth and then to Caleb and his shovel. Caleb tipped his tool behind him, and said, "Huh?"

"That." Marsha pointed with a long orange fingernail to the grave.

All eyes went to Maggie again, who for once seemed at a loss for words. "Uh, well, uh..."

"What are you burying?" Ted fiddled with the whiskers of his mustache in curiosity.

"A zombie," Maggie let out.

Stella couldn't believe it. Of all the times to tell the truth, now was not one of them.

"A zombie?" Marsha put a hand to her chest in surprise. "You're kidding!!!" She turned to Ted. "A zombie, Ted! Does the fun never end? Grab the shovel and pitch in! The grave needs to be deeper."

Stella raised her eyebrows at her friends, studying their responses. They looked equally speechless, except for Maggie. Maggie stated with a long sigh, as if releasing a great burden off her shoulders, "You believe me then."

"Dear, of course I believe you." Marsha put an arm around her shoulders. "I can tell when someone is lying or not."

"Oh wonderful." Maggie smiled. "Well, then, you wouldn't be a bit surprised if I told you I'm not Maggie Partridge..."

"Maggie!" Kit cut in. "What are you doing?"

"Hmmm." Marsha looked at Ted. "I guess my intuition's off just a bit. Nobody's perfect, right?" She giggled, and turned back to Maggie: "Anywho, darlin', who's the zombie?"

Holy cow, Stella slapped her hands to her face. The woman had responded like she just asked for a second round of tea. But Maggie's eyes lit up at the chance to explain. "It's Mrs. Partridge herself. She nearly killed us the other night, the ol' bat! It was the most terrifying thing ever. Thankfully Gordon here really does know Karate, and got her before she got us."

"You don't say!" Marsha giggled and glanced at her smiling husband. "Well, good on you," she told Gordon, who blushed in return. She might as well have pinched his cheeks, Stella thought. Her tone was like that of a proud mother.

"Oh, dear, it really is too bad we dropped our camera down that one waterfall." Marsha shook her head in thought.

TWENTY-FOUR

The bright sunshine had no rousing affect on Damien. Instead, he slept in the driver's seat until his eyes popped open with the sudden thought of his father. There was a huge fear that the man he never met had just up and left, changed his mind, decided it was a bad idea after all. He shot up in his seat to look in the rearview mirror. It was a relief to see he was back to his normal self, though his jeans were torn at the seams and so was his shirt. He quickly changed into other clothes, right then and there, topping it all off with a spray of cologne; it would do until he could properly shower for the day.

Right away he noticed how all the cars but two were gone from the lot—the station wagon and the black sedan. He felt some relief over that. Ideally, a meeting of this significance would be done under more private circumstances. There was no desire for the other PAA members to be there. After one knock, the door opened.

"Son?"

"Father?"

They hugged for a long time.

*

"Honey buns, I said to hit Bieber in the pants, right where it hurts!"

Stella sighed. "Mom."

"Do it!"

The pop star stared back at her with a little smile, looking so innocent. Just because Stella didn't care for his music, or his Michael Jackson jacket, it didn't mean she hated him. But... "I'd rather aim for the head, if you don't mind."

"I commend you for being brave enough to make a sure shot like that, sweetie. But we just want to bust a cap on his you-know-what; not kill the guy."

"Really?"

"Billy's a stalker, not a murderer. Practice crippling a man, not killing him."

Stella got silent, letting the cold gun go limp in her hand. So she hadn't been totally open with her mother. Only the PAA would know about Billy's little secret, and how he wanted to turn her. Only they would understand. Spending her senior year in a padded cell with a matching straight jacket wasn't her idea of fun.

BOOM! The blast was loud enough to vibrate her ear protection. Stella opened her eyes, which had been squeezed shut in shock for a long moment, and saw Bieber stood there completely intact. It was her mother's cardboard target that had a new hole.

Was it really necessary to make her father part of target practice? There he was, standing a realistic six-feet tall, wearing his custom black suit, but with a bullet wound. "Mom, you're intent on giving me nightmares, aren't you?"

"A woman's gotta have some inspiration... and fun." She tittered, before putting her gun into her garter.

Stella had to give her credit for her brazenness. "How did you and Dad ever fall in love in the first place?"

"Shoot your target, and then I'll tell you."

Stella lifted the weapon, aimed "right where it hurts," and pulled the trigger.

"Yow!" came a yelp.

It was a man a few booths over. "I'll never cross you, girlie!" he added. "Wowee!"

"That's my daughter!" Her mom prided herself.

"Mom."

After a couple more embarrassing moments of talk with the stranger—about how it was too bad Stella wasn't old enough to own a gun, how they reported her stalker to the police, and what a little Annie Oakley she's turning out to be—the shooting resumed.

No matter how many bullets punched through Stella's target, however, it still stood there, smiling. And that fact, scared her to death. How do you kill the undead, anyway?

*

Kit scratched the Scotch tape to yet another zombie poster off Stella's bedroom wall. With somberness, she laid it flat on the pile that formed on the bed. Seeing her friend's sadness, Stella couldn't help but compare the situation to a funeral. Stella was laying her former self to sleep, never to wake up again.

When Kit went for the Johnny Depp picture above the headboard, Stella caught her wrist. "You can leave that one," she said, and Kit gave a satisfied smile in response.

TWENTY-FIVE

Stella took a deep breath as she exited Kit's beetle. School sure looked the same, but it didn't feel the same. It stood there, a gray, two-story structure, colder than ever before. It didn't matter that the summer sun was doing a good job of lighting the morning sky; it felt cold. A glance across the packed parking lot made her think of her driver's ed class, when Billy's gaze took her by surprise. She caught her breath. He was leaning against a car, just watching her. "Him," she said.

"Who?" Kit asked. "Where?"

Stella pointed, but there was no one. "Never mind."

"Did you see Billy?"

"N-no. I just thought I did."

"Okay, you're freaking me out." Kit touched Stella's shoulder and moved in front of her, blocking her line of sight. "You sure you're okay?"

"Um... yeah," she said, knowing full-well, though, it was only a matter of time before he'd pop up somewhere unexpected. Someday it wouldn't be her mind playing tricks on her. He would be there. She tapped at the bulge in her pocket, thankful her mom had thought to supply her with pepper spray. But do zombies even react to pepper spray? She thought of Mrs. Partridge popping up like a Pop Tart after Maggie flattened her.

Caleb just about galloped in delight over to them, and quickly snatched Kit's hand in his. "First day of school, and we're seniors. Booyah!" The three followed the swarm of students entering the campus.

Kit said with a warning tone, "Stella's having a rough morning."

Not taking the hint, Caleb looked over Stella's ensemble and said, "What's the matter? You fulfilled your dare to ask Damien on a date. You don't have to dress all girly for your first day of school."

"I wanted to wear this," Stella said seriously, and looked down to her retro-inspired preppie dress.

Kit switched gears, as if forgetting her warning to Caleb just a second ago. "Yeah, it's still going to take me a while to get used to, you know. You look so different."

"Neither of you are shallow enough to dump me as a friend over the way I dress, are you?" Stella said. She knew they weren't, but their comments upset her. Personally, she was pleased with her look. The combat boots she would miss, but she wasn't married to her old stuff.

"You just look so... different," Kit said.

"Hey, give me a break. At least it's not the tutu." She smiled.

"...I guess so." Her friend eyed her some more as they entered the courtyard between classes. "But you really look like Hannah Montana right now."

Caleb snickered to that.

"What?" Stella stopped in her tracks and glared. "I'm not dressed anything like her. Are you sure you mean Hannah Montana?"

"Yeah, not like Miley Cyrus, but like Hannah Montana. Her alter-ego pop star look. Is that a wig?"

Kit went to pull a strand and Stella caught her hand midway. "No, it is not a wig. It's not even blonde. The bottle said Chestnut, and it's the closest thing to my natural hair color. So please don't compare me to Ms. Montana."

"It's just—"

"Zip!"

"But—"

"Zip it!"

Caleb interjected. "Hey, don't hate on Hannah. She's got the best of both worlds."

Stella sighed. "You guys, I want my first day to go smoothly."

Kit asked, "Does this mean you aren't a fan of The Deathheads anymore?"

"Huh? Of course I am their fan, for forever. Nothing will change that. The Meet and Greet is still on for next month."

Everyone was rushing to their separate classes, and soon Stella found hers with a wave goodbye to her friends. Apparently those in her homeroom English class were early birds, as they already were seated, shuffling through their bags. She couldn't help but notice some of the guys give a double-take glance up to her. Spotting Damien, she quickly averted her eyes and took an open seat near the front.

*

Damien sat in the very back of class, tapping his pencil against his desk while Tyler talked about all he missed while away. "Dude," Tyler leaned to him from the desk to his right, "we need to do some major catching up. It's time for you to come back to the shore and surf."

He gave a noncommittal nod, not looking his friend in the eyes. For once Damien wished he could just disappear from out of his popular status. On the first day of school, with the first class barely started, he already felt so much pressure. Add to that, that this was the earliest he had been up and active in a month, and he knew he was doomed to sitting through class with his head on his desk, recuperating.

Someone with dark hair walked in late and handed the teacher a note. Automatically, he thought of Stella and fixed his eyes on her. When she turned to take her seat, he saw it was someone else. He slumped back down in his seat and felt his heart rate come back down.

Just his luck, Tina from Dough-licious then entered with her usual heels click-clacking. It was the first time Damien saw her since the bonfire. Since returning home from the PAA's fieldtrip, his uncle relieved him of his duties, to spend some much needed time with his dad.

Damien averted his eyes to the teacher rifling through some notes at his desk, but could hear Tina clack down his row, and couldn't help but glance up. She noticed, as if waiting for him to look her way, and snapped around, giving him the cold shoulder before taking an empty seat. It was just as well, and he sighed in relief.

Class was a blur to him. He could feel his eyes were still bloodshot. At one point, he was certain he heard someone whisper, "What's wrong with him?" But he didn't care to look up.

When his favorite subject, PE, came around, he didn't feel any better. His teacher wasted no time getting right into things. Damien had to use all his concentration to perform at a much lower level than he was capable. He didn't want to come across as inhuman, racing past his peers on the track, grappling up a rope like it was nothing, and performing thirty push-ups without breaking a sweat. Not trying, however, sucked all the fun out of stuff he loved.

Coach came over to Damien at the end of class, and with an arm around his shoulders, said, "It's good to see you. This football season we'll break records for sure. How much are you bench pressing now? I see you've put in a lot of work over summer."

"Uh-I'm not sure."

"What do you mean you're not sure, son? You're huge. You have to be working out at the YMCA at least six times a week to get this big. Probably taking protein drinks, eating right, the whole nine yards."

Damien forced a half-smile and ignored responding to the comment.

"You okay?" Coach asked. "You look out of it." He then lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. "You aren't on 'roids are you? Listen, if you are, you can confide in me. I can help."

"I'm fine." Damien looked him in the eyes, assuring him. "It's a growth spurt."

"Big growth spurt. ...Okay, well, just so you know, you're on the Varsity team again. Come to try-outs just for the formalities, the paperwork, all that mumbo jumbo. But, you're in." He winked.

"Thanks, Coach." Under normal circumstances, Damien would have been all pumped up over the compliment and offer.

"I don't want to find out later that you've been on the juice when you just told me you're clean. You understand?"

"Yeah, no problem. I'm clean."

Back in the locker room, he turned away from the other guys while changing. After buttoning his jeans and shoving his t-shirt over his head, he thought for sure he saw Stella. He shot a glance back over to the showers, back to the dripping black tresses with hope, but quickly grossed himself out at the sight of big hands scrubbing through the hair.

It

was

a

dude.

Damien shook his head in exasperation. Who else would be in the guys' locker room? As if a girl would just happen to be showering openly, right there. If he thought one more person was Stella... Then he realized he didn't even know if Stella attended Shoreline High. He hadn't asked her, and she didn't say anything that would clue him in. They barely had two conversations the whole time he was down there, at the PAA trip. And here he was getting all worked up over thinking he spotted her over and over, when she probably attended the other high school in town, Liberty High.

"Earth to Damien," someone said.

"Huh?" He turned to them. It was another football player. One of the running backs.

"I was talking to you about the upcoming season, but your head is in the clouds, man."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"Long night," he just said, and slammed his locker shut.

TWENTY-SIX

"Ding dong!" The door bell rang, making Stella jump in surprise. She was home alone, and all the way upstairs in her bedroom. Automatically, her eyes darted to her window, which was now boarded up at her request. With a huff, she headed downstairs.

Through the peephole, she caught sight of what looked like a bug head—huge eyes with glasses, and a narrow little chin. When she opened the door, she found what she thought was a distorted image reflected real life pretty well. "Gordon, hi. What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you about the PAA," he said, pushing his glasses up.

"The PAA? It's not in existence anymore...."

"Well, it sort of still is. Maggie and I have been meeting together."

That was news. She didn't know how to feel about that. "For real? You do? And you... get along?"

"Yeah, it's not so bad. Maggie and I are sort of friends now, I guess."

Hm. "That's cool. So why are you telling me about this?"

"Well, I have a couple questions, if you don't mind."

Stella glanced over her shoulder to the living room's couch. "Alright. Come inside."

Gordon entered with a look of reverence. Or was it nervousness? He sat down and folded his hands on his lap, after again pushing his glasses up his nose. Stella took a chair across from him, still wearing her dress.

"You look different," he said, eyeing her from head to toe.

"Yes, I do," she stated flatly. "It was totally on purpose."

"Of course. I mean, I wouldn't expect your mother to be dressing you at your age. I mean, you look nice, Stella."

"Thank you." She smiled for receiving her first compliment of the day, even if it didn't come across the best.

He looked down to his folded hands and back up to her, still not saying anything.

"What would you like to ask?" she insisted.

"Have you seen Billy around?"

Stella twitched her head to say no. "Why?"

"That's good," he said. "I know you don't want to be a part of PAA anymore, so I just wanted to know if it was just because of Billy. Because of, you know, zombies."

"Pretty much. Kit can now be happy I am over with that phase. I had her help me tear down my posters and get rid of my zombie books." The werewolf romance in her night stand came to mind. She had forgotten about that one.

"So..., does this mean you are open to discussing other creatures? We can make PAA a zombie-free zone, so you can still be included."

"I'm pretty much against anything paranormal now." Stella furrowed her brows and felt her shoulders tense up. "I don't find fun in it anymore."

"I understand." Gordon looked deflated, and slumped back in his seat.

"It will be okay, right? You two won't really miss me that much, will you?" She picked a hanging thread off her skirt.

"I'll miss you," he slowly confessed. "You were the only one who supported me in my Bigfoot research. You didn't believe in him, but still. You didn't make me feel like a total dweeb about it either."

"Awww, Gordon. That's because you're not a dweeb."

"I'm not?" he asked, looking up at her.

"No, Gordon. Your accomplishments are out of this world. Literally. You've been in space! Come on, that is amazing right there. You just turned sixteen, and already you have a driver's license. I still need to get my butt in gear and get mine. And do I even need to mention how you karate kicked Mrs. Partridge, saving us all from getting our brains eaten?"

She leaned forward and emphasized, "Gordon, you are pretty cool."

The boy blushed... a lot. He looked up to her and sort of bat his eyes. "Stella, will you... go on a date with me?"

Whoa. That was completely unexpected. Stella was sure she blushed a bit, too, but out of embarrassment. Had she led him on? She opened her mouth to automatically say no thanks, but bit her tongue. Here was a genuinely nice guy for once asking her on a date. She squinted her eyes and studied his hope-filled expression. Every single guy she had ever been attracted to, who showed mutual interest, had turned out to be completely wrong for her. Maybe she owed it to herself, and owed it to Gordon, to give him a real shot. "Oookay," she squeaked out.

"Really?" He perked up.

"Sure. Why not?" She cleared her throat and told herself to be mature and open-minded.

"This is great," he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'll take you to the best restaurant. Your choice. And you can eat whatever you want from the menu. I'm not cheap. I have already set up a 401k for retirement and invested in stocks and bonds."

Stella wanted to giggle to that. He was so super excited, which was endearing. And really, he was a dork. But again, an endearing dork.

"So tonight, at seven?"

"Whoa, wait a minute. Tonight is a school night. We just got home from our first day of school."

"Precisely. Which is perfect, if you think about it. No teacher gives homework the first day of school. Well, unless you are Mr. Stein, but I don't have him this semester, and neither do you since you are a year ahead of me."

"Okay, Gordon. Just a hint, though. You're not supposed to sound this eager for the first date."

"Oh?" He turned white. "I'm sorry, am I being too eager?"

"It's okay." She smiled. "I'll see you at seven."

"See you then." He nodded, popped up from his seat, and walked with a spring in his step to the door. "Bye!"

Stella went back upstairs, sat up in bed and got on her laptop. After meandering around a bit, she visited Gordon's blog. A banner with a cartoon of Bigfoot spread across the top. Gordon posted just once since their trip. It was another picture his camera caught of something in the woods. She clicked the image and zoomed in on it. In the background, she was certain there was a red jeep. She X'd out of the picture and read the blog:

"Good evening, fellow Bigfoot seekers:

"I spent an adventurous weekend down in California, as some of my readers know. I brought my PES, Paranormal Energy Scanner. It didn't disappoint. While lying in bed one evening, I had a sudden sixth sense urge to flip the machine on. The red light flashed, telling me a creature was near. When I got out of bed and stepped away from the window, the red light flashed slower, which meant one thing: the creature was outside.

"I braced myself for what evil could be lurking in the woods. First I put on a black sweater and dark jeans, and then found a beanie lying by my roommate's bedside. I put that on too. I left the scanner on my bed, and flipped it off, knowing the red light could identify my position, and stealthily snuck out the window.

"The one piece of equipment I didn't leave behind was my camera. I turned it on, and crept around the perimeter of the Inn. Then I saw it. Some beast walking upright, tall and with a silhouette of fur. He wasn't alone either. Soon, another met him, and then another, and another. Each one, by what I could perceive with the light of the moon, could pass for Bigfoot.

"My heart thudded like a hammer to my ribs. I felt faint for a moment, but quickly recuperated by putting my head to my knees. All my research, all my hopes, would not be in vain. When I looked back up, I only saw one, and flashed my camera as fast as possible, before dashing back to my room.

"I had kept the incident to myself, knowing those I traveled with were skeptics. So the next morning, I did some further investigating. I studied the location the beasts were caught congregating. In the dirt were these footprints:"

Stella clicked the image to enlarge. The prints looked like the ones their group had found the first morning of their trip, during their hike.

"This was a puzzling discovery. For those who know, as you can see, they match the prints of werewolves. Do werewolves walk upright like us? Could Bigfoot be indeed a werewolf? According to other alleged Bigfoot eye witnesses, his prints are even larger and more flat-footed. But who's to say after all, what is what? Could it be that all these Bigfoot sightings are werewolf sightings, and not some primate?

"I do not have the answers to these questions. Still, I will search, and have hope I will find my answers, sooner than later."

Stella snapped the laptop shut and gently tossed it to the foot of her bed. She then screeched open her side-table's wooden drawer. Lying there, next to some toe-socks, was the werewolf romance. She picked it up and stared long at the cover. A werewolf dressed like a sexy pirate, down to its hoop earring, pressed a scantily clad woman to his hairy chest. She feathered the pages across her thumb in thought, before chucking it into a metal little trash can. The receptacle clanked and fell over.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Gordon was on Stella's porch at seven on the dot, with some daisies in hand. "I wanted to get you something different from roses," he said nervously.

"I'm glad you didn't get me roses."

Her mother quickly took the daisies in delight right over to a vase, and trotted back with a word of caution. "Gordon, don't stay out too late with Stella. Also phone me when you two are on your way back. I don't know if she has told you or not, but there's a crazy stalker after her. I've given her a can of pepper spray and an air horn. Would you like something for yourself?"

"Mother." Stella squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment. This is why she didn't introduce her mom to her friends.

"Don't mother me. If it were legal, you'd have a gun strapped to your garter, you understand?"

"You have a garter?" Gordon said, eyes wide.

That was the last image Stella wanted in Gordon's mind. "No."

"Just her mama has one." The woman proudly hiked up her skirt to show them the glistening gun secured by a red-lace garter.

"Let's get out of here." Stella grabbed Gordon's arm.

On the way to the car, Stella said with a sigh, "You'd think my mother was the one from Idaho, but Dad is."

Gordon opened his Trans Am's passenger door, and Stella entered with interest. The dashboard resembled some sort of space craft with multiple buttons, lights, and gadgets. "What's this all do?" she asked once he entered.

"Mostly nothing. But it looks fun, doesn't it?"

After eating at an authentic Italian restaurant, Gordon drove Stella to a secluded area overlooking the city lights. Awkward wouldn't even begin to describe it. Still, Stella had to give him credit for his confidence. "Um, Gordon," she started.

He turned on the radio to a romantic tune, as if not hearing her, then proceeded to roll down the windows, letting in the cool mountain air.

"Gordon?"

"Yes?" He turned in his seat with a hopeful look.

"What are you doing? What are we doing here?" She cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh, are you cold?" He glanced to the goose bumps that prickled up her little arm-hairs. "Here, take my jacket," he said, immediately pulling it off.

She put a hand up to refuse the offer. "I'm okay."

"Okay, darling," he said, and threw it on the back seat. A finger pressed one of the many buttons on his dash, and suddenly a tiny disco ball lowered from a hatch above them. It spun and glittered. It was official: this was the strangest date Stella had ever been on.

Not taking her surprised expression as a hint to back off, Gordon closed his eyes. His lids looked huge through the thick lenses. He slowly leaned toward her with lips nearly puckered like a fish's mouth during feeding time.

She couldn't do it. Accepting the date was already a big leap for her. She did not owe him a kiss. So... plastering her back against the door and squeezing her eyes shut ended up being a bad idea. The next moment, Gordon's mouth was on hers, wet and mushy like a jellyfish.

She had been jellyfished.

Stella firmly pried him off of her, and wiped her mouth. "This isn't right," she burst.

"What? What's the matter?" he asked.

"Gordon, I gave it a shot," she reasoned, pulling her long hair over a shoulder to nervously fidget with the ends. "I went on this date with you, but you're nothing but a friend to me. And that's all you'll ever be."

His eyes went wider than ever before, and his jaw dropped. Could he really be that surprised? she wondered. A finger went over his lips. "Shhhh." Then she realized his eyes were fixed on something else, something behind her. She felt for her pepper spray, and pulled it out of her dress pocket just in case.

Gordon quietly opened his door, readying himself to exit. Stella turned to look over her shoulder. There was a figure by a tree maybe twenty feet away. She could hardly make it out in the darkness.

"What are you doing?" Stella turned back to Gordon, worried. "Stay inside and lock the doors," she whispered frantically.

He locked the doors, but still exited. "Sorry," he mouthed.

"No, Gordon." She tried to stop him, but it was useless. What was he thinking anyway? Sure he had saved her life when it came to the Mrs. Partridge zombie, but dealing with Billy was a whole other matter. She didn't care if the kid was a black belt in Karate.

Stella rolled up her window, and stared through the glass. Gordon was creeping up on the figure that was now further away. Oddly enough, she not only felt fear but anger, like she wanted to chase down her date and give him a swift kick in the butt. Instead, she stayed put, fuming, watching helplessly as Gordon closed in on the stranger. Then there was a pop sound, and something that looked like a blast of light. What... the... heck? It was followed by a smaller flash of light.

Gordon bolted back to the car. He pulled at his handle in a frenzy before Stella reached over and opened it.

With a swift turning on of the engine and shifting into reverse, they were outta there.

"What just happened?!" Stella felt for her seatbelt, making sure she was secure.

"I got it," he said.

"Got what?"

Gordon continued speeding down streets, whipping them around corners, not answering.

"Slow down!"

He didn't listen.

"Slow the freak down!"

Gordon reluctantly shifted into a lower gear.

"Now talk to me. What did you get?!"

"A picture."

"Of what? Oh no—Bigfoot?! You took me to a place to hunt down Bigfoot?!"

"Not completely for that purpose," he said, some sweat glistening across his forehead.

Stella narrowed her eyes and shook her head. "And the other purpose was to make out with me?! Bigfoot pictures and make-out time with Stella. That's what it was about? Gordon, you were supposed to be different from other guys."

"What do you mean?"

"You knew, from our conversation earlier, that I didn't want to ever see another paranormal creature in my life, and what do you do? You take me right up to one. And after you try making out with me."

"So, I like Bigfoot... and I like you. I'm sorry, Stella."

"Whatever," she said, shaking her head in her hands.

They soon pulled up to her house. When he put it in park he pulled a couple things out of his pockets.

"What is that stuff?"

"Nothing. You'll just be mad."

"Now you have to tell me."

He showed her a device that looked kind of like a Wii remote. "This is a Taser."

"You Tased the thing?"

"Y-yeah," he said hesitantly.

"You're lucky it didn't come back and attack you."

"Well, it was set to a really high voltage, so I doubt that could have happened." He then showed her the camera. "And in here is the picture. I know you are upset, but I finally got a close up picture of this Bigfoot character, and I really, really, really hope my nerves didn't ruin it. I hope it isn't blurry." Right away, he turned the camera on and it lit inside the dark car.

Stella was ready to exit, mad over it all, but Gordon said, "Oh no."

"What?"

"Um. Nothing. Nothing."

"Give me the camera." Stella yanked it from his hold, and looked at the image. "Damien?! You Tased Damien?!"

TWENTY-EIGHT

It was like a semi-truck had blasted into him. Damien could still see stars, and was still resigned to lying flat on his back in the dirt. That's what he got for wanting to sneak out just one night. But the werewolf in him was tired of being caged. Plus, he started hearing voices, and didn't want to go completely mad cooped up in his bedroom.

When he came more to his senses, he wondered if maybe he got shot. He looked down to his chest, and felt around. There was no blood. But... neither was there fur. What had happened? He remembered a surge of light and wildly convulsing out of control. A strange elation came over him over the thought of possibly getting struck by lightning. Was he cured? He forced himself to stand, in spite of the pain that cut through his muscles.

Come to think of it, it couldn't have been lightning. Not one rain cloud hovered above in the sky. Millions of stars shone down in complete clarity. Whatever blessing came down to him from Heaven, he would take it, and take it gladly. He let out a giddy laugh that sounded foreign to his ears, then took off running out of the little wooded area and down toward the beach. He was still fast, just not as fast. It didn't matter. He was free of the beast!

When he saw Tyler and the rest of his friends a ways off with their bonfire and surfboards, he dropped to the sand and kissed it in thankfulness. But as soon as he stood up, he thought of someone else. He had to see her as soon as possible. Running back into town, however, he realized a few things: One, he didn't know where Stella lived. Two, it was pretty late out. Three, he was really sweaty and possibly smelled like dog.

Damien took a moment to rest, wiping the sweat from his hairline. When he looked up, he couldn't believe his luck. There was Stella. Exiting a car. He was so close, he could hear her firmly say, "Don't get out. I'll go to the door alone." A date gone bad? he wondered with hope. The sports car sped off, and Stella's heels clacked against the cement path to her front porch. She was wearing a cute little dress, and the moonlight shimmered off her hair.

He quickened his steps to meet her. "Stella," he said.

She whipped around and sprayed something at his face. It felt like acid rain eating his eyes right out of his sockets. The searing pain! He immediately fell back and affixed his palms to his now tear-filled face. "Ahhh!" His eyeballs were actually spasming. This was twice tonight his spirit felt like leaving his body.

He felt Stella splash cold water over his face. Eventually, he lay sprawled out in resignation, and he dared to test his sight. Over him, close to his face, was Stella looking at him in concern. In her hand was an empty water bottle. He asked, "Is... your hair a different color?" The long strands flowed down and settled on his t-shirt. For a moment he forgot about what he had just gone through. She was so pretty.

She continued staring down at him with her beautiful green eyes. "I'm really, really sorry," she said.

"What happened?"

"I pepper sprayed you."

"You what?" he croaked.

"You crept up on me."

"I wanted to say hello." He rubbed his eyes again, and could now sense the cool grass through his t-shirt and tickling his neck in refreshing contrast.

Something cool swept across his cheek. He could hardly believe that when his eyes opened, Stella's hand was caressing his face. Her eyebrows moved together in sympathy, and he could feel the energy of a first kiss coming on. "You look awful," she said.

A laugh escaped his lips, though he felt a pain in his heart over the remark. "I didn't expect that," he confessed, and took in a deep breath.

"What did you expect?"

His heavy arms spread across the blades of grass in surrender. "Honestly, a kiss."

Stella's thick lashes fluttered in surprise. "I um. I thought you wanted me to stay away from you. You made it very clear actually."

"I changed my mind."

"You changed your mind?"

"Yes, Stella," he said, still lying there, feeling the desire for her grow by leaps and bounds. If she were his girlfriend, they'd be locking lips already. If she were any other girl, they'd be locking lips already. "I want nothing more than to kiss you. If I have to beg, I'll beg. I want you. I want to kiss you. Please. Pretty please."

She quirked an eyebrow.

"...With a cherry on top?"

"This is not the Damien I'm used to seeing." She hesitated.

"I know."

"You were so certain of yourself at the beach."

"I was."

"You broke my heart."

"I'll do all I can to fix it."

"You said I was wrong about you."

"Things are different."

Skepticism flooded her expression. "Damien, you haven't even really talked to me since the beach. What you're saying doesn't make any sense. Why right now? Why tonight?"

There was no response. Just a sigh.

"I need to go inside. My mom is expecting me."

Another, deeper sigh. "I'm sorry," he said.

With a shake of her head in seeming disappointment, Stella stood up and walked away, leaving him there to himself.

The front door creaked open and he heard, "Stella, why didn't you call? Everything okay?"

Getting struck by lightning, or whatever it was, was bad. Getting pepper sprayed, possibly worse. Stella refusing to kiss him, undoubtedly hurt the most.

*

After finally convincing her mother that she really was okay—under the circumstances, she didn't phone on the way home—Stella went upstairs to go to bed. On her way to the master bedroom, she paused and changed direction. She went and peeked through some blinds, and looked down to Damien Capernalli still lying on her lawn. He didn't move a muscle but to scratch his nose.

TWENTY-NINE

Damien pulled into the school's parking lot late. He slammed his jeep's door shut, wearing shades and feeling like hell. For a moment, he wondered if he should get back in and drive away. Ditching could still be an option. Was it worth disappointing his father, though? He couldn't drive back home, and the likelihood of being caught around the small town, and slapped with a truancy ticket, was high.

Besides his blood shot eyes, side effect of being pepper sprayed by gorgeous-Goth-girl, the rest of him looked fine. It didn't matter much that he didn't feel fine. He had dealt with pain enough recently to master ignoring most of it.

What the hay? He rubbed a hand through his dark hair and started toward school.

A guy in a hoodie and shades came out in the open from between some cars. Damien glanced at him then continued his focus on the school. The stranger approached, and said, "Hey," walking side by side with him.

Instincts told Damien this guy was shady—he should have been wearing a t-shirt, not some sweatshirt. It was summer, and hot out. "Dope dealer," came to mind. "I'm not interested," Damien said, waving him away.

"Oh, you're interested," the stranger said, his voice unsteady. "Interested in my girl."

"Huh?" Damien stopped and turned to him, not feeling threatened but confused.

"Stay away from Stella, you understand?" Breath that smelled like a dank crawl space assaulted Damien's nostrils.

"What do you mean? Are you the dude she went on a date with last night? Because my memory tells me things didn't end too well."

"Are you by chance, Damien? The one she told me about?"

His eyebrows raised. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, I'm not going to say what she tells me in private. But you can be certain, she does not like you."

"Yeah, whatever...," Damien said, moving as if to go around him.

The guy cut in front of him. "I'm serious. Stay away from Stella. Or else."

"Or else what? You think you can take me on? I say, you better back off or else."

"I saw you." He chuckled in a mock tone. "You don't have your powers anymore."

How could he know about that? Damien wondered. This guy knew he had been a werewolf? "What?"

"Oh, you know what I'm talking about." The stranger lifted his shades up and pulled down the hoodie. "Remember me?"

Intense gray eyes had a glint of glee in them. It was Seth? No... "What's going on? Who are you? Why are you here?" Something dawned on him—at the beach, Stella opened up to him about an ex who stalked her. "Wait a minute—are you that Billy creep that follows her around?"

The guy thrust a cold hand around Damien's throat and squeezed hard. "It's none of your business. I'll kill you, you hear? Leave her alone."

Oh, Dude was messing with the wrong guy. Damien slammed a fist into his face, and readied himself for another blow. Something nasty, though, caused him to retract. The flesh of Billy's cheek hung, exposing corroded muscle.

Billy touched at the wound, looking horrified. "I'm not done with you," he seethed.

Damien rubbed at his aching Adam's apple while watching the whatever-it-was run off.

*

"Cute boots," a voice said from behind.

Stella shut her locker with a gasp. She turned to see Damien. He smiled his usual charming smile, with perfect white teeth, and pointed at her Doc Martin's. So, she couldn't actually give those up. "Uh, hi."

"Hello, I'm feeling kinda like a zombie from being pepper sprayed in the eyes by a really cute girl," he said, wearing sunglasses.

It was too bad, the word zombie stuck out more to her than the word cute. But, that's right, Damien had no idea about Billy at the bed and breakfast, much less his brain-eating ways.

"...But today's a new day, and I'm hoping things go better," he added.

She couldn't help but notice red spots on his neck. Hickies? Did he already get mauled by some girl behind the bleachers? It was just last night when he begged for a kiss from her. Stella wanted so badly to give him that kiss, but it didn't seem right. Nothing made sense. And if it was true, if he already made out with some random girl, then good on her for not following through with her desires last night. With a tone of bitterness, she asked, "Are you sure you want to be flirting with me, instead of some other girl?"

A couple cheerleaders passed them by, whispering and casting judgmental glances to Stella.

Damien paused before saying, "I'm going to make things up to you. Go on a date with me? Friday?" He reached a hand out from behind his back. A single red rose.

A gasp stole Stella's attention to down the hall, where three girls were huddled by lockers, gawking at her. Get this—Damien had said at the beach—don't ever let me get this close to you again. She had to nip this in the bud, even if her heart was fluttering at his flattering words. Even if she had this crazy desire to just reach up and kiss him right there. They were still from totally different worlds. It didn't matter if she was now a brunette and wearing dresses. She didn't like his world, and he was right at the beach; it was about time she started paying attention to red flags, when it came to guys.

Damien raised his eyebrows over his shades, and asked again, "Stella, will you please go on a date with me Friday night?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head, feeling her heart drop. "I can't. No. I'm sorry."

His expression fell, and his hand offering the rose went limp. "Really?" he asked.

"Yeah... really," she breathed. Another part of her was screaming inside. She could take back what she just said, and still say yes. It wasn't too late. But it was like her boots were cemented into the ground, and those words gagged. She just couldn't say yes to him.

Damien stood there a moment longer, obviously surprised, and suddenly the rose looked way awkward in his hands. He finally nodded and opened his mouth to say something else. It took him a moment to say, "I should tell you, I ran into your, um, ex in the parking lot. I think you should know that. He seems very unstable."

"You did?" Her eyes widened, then looked down at the ground in understanding. "Yeah, he's still following me around."

"Just be very careful," he said.

"I've told the police and my mom knows, so..."

Another nod, and he walked off. On his way past a trash can, he tossed the flower.

THIRTY

An envelope slid across the table to Damien. It was in the shape of those birthday cards that are meant to hold cash. Given that there was a cake with eighteen candles sitting in front of him, he didn't expect anything else. He ripped it open, and glanced up at his uncle, aunt and father each looking at him with smiles. Aunt Loretta snapped a photo, and Damien peeked inside. Two tickets looked back at him.

"What are these?" he asked, already knowing. He could clearly see the logo that matched his new tattoo.

"Deathheads tickets," his dad said, scooting his chair closer. "Well, what do you think, son? They'll be playing here in a couple weeks. Should be fun, huh? You can go with your old man. It will be great."

"Thanks, Dad."

In bed that evening, Damien thought over his humble birthday party. It was nothing like Tyler's, where he invited practically the whole school over, blasted some speakers and had five kegs lining the bar of his kitchen. He stared at the tickets some more, before setting them on his nightstand. No, his party wasn't like Tyler's; it was more special.

The Teen Wolf movie still leaned against his lamp, and he picked that up instead. With a shake of his head, he popped the movie in his DVD player and watched it. It was really cool how the werewolf could fit right in at school, openly, and everyone accepted him. Oh well, his own days as a werewolf were nothing more than a flash in his past.

Halfway into the movie, his thoughts drifted to the thing that attacked him in the parking lot. The thing that tricked him into believing he had once been nothing more than a victim, a grandson allergic to the sun, chased down by some thugs who were going to kill him. After all, it ended up being Stella's ex.

Stella...

*

The angry banging against Stella's front door startled her. She dropped her fork, clattering it against her plate of chicken and vegetables. The sound stopped as suddenly as it started, leaving a stillness that was even more disturbing.

Her mother swiftly got up from the dinner table and ran to go check things out, snapping the gun out of her garter. "Who is it?" She turned the porch light on and looked through the peephole.

No answer.

"I don't see nobody! I said, who is it? Now you answer now, or I will blast you away. Ya hear me?!"

A gurgling moan answered. Stella was at the window, a second later, looking through the curtains.

"Stay back, Stella. I'm gonna shoot at the count of three!" her mother said loud enough for the stranger to hear.

"Mom, wait! Look!" Stella pulled the curtains way back for her to see the crumpled body writhing on their door mat. "I think it's Gordon!"

Still pointing her gun, her mom creaked the door open. Stella looked over her shoulder. It was in fact Gordon, in too much pain to let either of them touch him. Bruises colored his face purple and red. There was no evidence of his glasses, and his left eye's lid was swollen completely shut.

Gordon was too out of it to say who hurt him, though it was obvious it was Billy. Stella felt sick to her stomach, seeing her old PAA friend roughed up so terribly. So he had made the moves on her on their date, and taken her to a place Bigfoot was thought to be tramping around, making her livid. It didn't mean he deserved something like this, and in that moment, seeing him so beat up and helpless, she forgave him.

"You coward!" Stella screeched into the night, knowing the zombie could hear her. "You lurk around, threatening me and hurting my friend here! Well, come and get me!" She stepped over Gordon's body, casting her eyes around the porch and bushes. "I dare you! Do what you said you were going to do! Come get me!"

"Missy, get back in here!" Her mother nearly dragged her back inside. "Are you crazy? I don't want to come home one night to you looking like that."

*

Stella, Kit, Caleb and Maggie hovered around a bed, where an almost unrecognizable version of their friend lay with tubes and wires of all kinds going up his nose, up his arms and down his medical gown. Gordon finally opened an eye and grunted.

Maggie went right over to him and sympathetically held his hand. "Hey, buddy. How you feeling?"

He moaned, then said, "Awful."

Stella moved over to him, guilt eating at her. "I'm really sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Not... your... fault," he said.

"It is. It is my fault," Stella said, feeling tears brim her eyes.

Instantly her friends disagreed, and attempted to console her, but she wouldn't have any of that. "It is my fault." Stella eyed each of them, feeling the tears well up more and trickle down her cheeks. "I went on a date with Gordon when I knew Billy was after me. I basically asked for this to happen. This sucks. I suck."

A doctor came in with his clipboard. "Kids, your friend needs to rest some more. The good news is he just has one fractured rib. He should be able to walk out of here by morning."

*

Stella quietly clicked around her laptop around 2 a.m., her mother snoring right beside her. She hadn't seen any other sign of Billy being around, other than tonight, but knew that didn't mean anything. She had to ask herself what he was waiting for. Why not just finish the job? Turn her already? Then she realized her home was like a fortress, and she was hardly ever alone. He probably was in wait for the perfect opportunity.

She read up as much as she could take in about zombies, until her eyes begged for her to stop. Lastly, she opened her email and typed, "I'm back in the PAA."

*

Caleb sprinkled some Reese's Pieces across the grange's parking lot.

"What are you doing?" Maggie asked. "That's some good food you're wasting there."

Stella shook her head and wrapped her cardigan tighter around her body, as they approached the dark destination. She knew what Caleb was up to. "Billy's a zombie, not E.T."

"That's not funny," Kit told her boyfriend, reprimanding him further.

Gordon chuckled, his arm in a splint, still looking pretty bad.

"Besides," Stella continued, "we don't want to lure him until we're ready."

Needless to say, there was no table filled with paranormal books, no sharing time, and no Halloween lights strewn along the walls. The PAA took a sharp turn in another direction—preparation for kicking some zombie butt.

After what happened to Gordon, it was something they could no longer run from. Stella had been running for over a year, so she knew that wasn't the answer anymore. No longer would she be the scared little girl. "As you all know," she said to her team, "I was the zombie addict. This means I read up on all the latest zombie fiction. But it didn't mean I studied alleged first-hand accounts with the monsters. I didn't believe they existed, so why would I?

"Now I know they exist. So let's talk strategy."

Gordon spoke first. "Zombies, as far as my studies have shown, are stronger than Hollywood makes them out to be. What we see is these decrepit beings limping around graveyards, like in Michael Jackson's Thriller. It's apparently not like that at all. They're strong. Really strong. And, yes, they decompose, but at a very slow rate. It can take a couple hundred years before they start to walk funny."

"How can that be?" Kit asked. "That doesn't make any sense."

"There's a toxin in their bodies that also acts as a preservative. It's pretty fascinating, actually."

"Wow." Stella was seriously impressed. "I should have cut right to asking you about them, instead of wasting hours of studying last night."

"His brain really is an encyclopedia," Maggie said, this time without any contempt or sarcasm. "Go on, Gordon. What should we do?"

"Well..., it's not that simple. Killing them is actually the hard part. Again, Hollywood has misled us. Not even a bullet would kill them; they don't have blood."

"What about Mrs. Partridge?" Kit demanded. "She seemed to die pretty easily if you ask me!"

Gordon nodded. "She did. It's my guess she was a pretty old zombie. I would say maybe even a thousand years old. Her insides had turned to jelly, and her brain was basically shrunk to near nothing. I'd say she was definitely on her way out already."

"She sure looked ancient!" Maggie surmised.

"Yeah," Gordon agreed, "but looks have nothing to do with how old they are. It is just an indicator of what time in their life they turned. She must have turned while well into her eighties."

"And how does someone get turned?" Stella had to ask. A shiver went down her spine.

"Oh, I know the answer to this one!" Caleb raised his hand high in the air. "Okay, so... it means a zombie attacked them, but they escaped before their brains were eaten! Right? Right?"

Gordon agreed. "Precisely. So back to the topic of how to kill these things. They literally need to be torn to shreds and then their remains burned. The quickest way to finish the job is to blow them up, cause an explosion."

"What, pray tell, happens if all their remains aren't burned?" Maggie asked.

"You've seen The Addam's Family?"

"Of course."

"You know Thing?"

"What? The hand?"

"Yeah..."

Everyone got the picture.

Stella squirmed in her seat over the next question nagging at her. "Can zombies fall in love?" She knew it sounded absolutely ridiculous.

"I don't see why not," Gordon said, like it was a normal question. "They have a range of feelings, it seems. Hatred for me, being one of them." He pointed at his black eye.

Kit cut in. "I don't see how this is feasible. That we are going to somehow overpower some superhuman being, shred him to bits and light every piece of him on fire. I know I'm not comfortable with that. If this was as easy as a stake to the heart or a silver bullet, then sure. This is much more involved, though, and I'm not about to enlist some Jeffrey Dahmer onto our team to take care of the job, because I know none of you would be up to it either. Who here is willing to shred piece by piece something that looks like another human being? Raise your hand or say I."

Everyone was silent. "The question we should be asking," Maggie said, "is if we are willing to let this thing kill one of our friends."

"Good point. Good point," Caleb said. "I'd be willing shred it to bits to save you."

"Ew," Kit said.

"Someone's got to do it," he assured her.

"What makes you think you can shred a guy to bits?"

"Chainsaw Massacre?"

"Oh, gross! You guys, this sounds really dangerous. And I don't trust Caleb with a chainsaw."

"There's only one other way..." Gordon stopped himself, shaking his head at the thought.

"What?" everyone asked.

"We find a werewolf."

Maggie nodded like she knew that answer already.

"Oh, easy. We'll just post some wanted ads around town on telephone poles," Kit said sarcastically. "We're in over our heads."

"...Maybe not," Gordon said.

"What do you mean?" Stella asked.

"I think we all know a werewolf."

THIRTY-ONE

"You look beautiful," said a woman. The stitches going all around her face looked more like baseball threads. "Is this your first?"

"First what?"

"Marriage," she said.

"Oh, I guess so. I mean..., am I getting married?"

A blush brush fluffed across Stella's cheeks one more time. "Pink is a lovely color on you. You look so alive."

"Um. Thanks?"

"Oh, don't forget to have me show you the latest in anti-aging serums. It's an over-the-counter product, and works like a charm. I swear by it. Some other time, though. Today is your big day."

Stella noticed the white veil puffing to the sides of her face, and looked down to her matching gown and gloves. How could she forget such a big event like this? "What's my groom's name?"

The woman touched her chest with a spurting laugh. '"What's my groom's name?' You are too funny."

Stella's mind felt fuzzy. Everything made sense, but didn't. She rubbed at her forehead and it felt like ice.

"Oh, honey, you aren't getting cold feet are you?" She snickered. "Sorry, old zombie joke. Have no worries. It will be great."

The next moment, Stella was prodded to exit the beauty parlor right outside to a cemetery. It was dark out and the wind blew her veil mystically around her. The place smelled like worms. She glanced all around, and saw no one, so she turned to re-enter the salon... only it wasn't there anymore.

The sound of an organ playing "Here Comes The Bride" started up, and she whipped around toward the music. A man tickled the ivories, right there, in the graveyard, wearing an old suit and top hat.

"What's going on? Where am I?" she timidly asked him.

He just turned to her, with a smile, and continued eerily playing the wedding tune.

The next moment, there was grunting and moaning all around. She spotted ancient hands thrusting out from beneath the earth. Caskets burst open and out limped corpses with patchy hair, missing noses, crusty or holey skin. They moaned some more, and Stella put her hands to her face in horror. She searched for a place to run off to, but the graveyard seemed endless, the decrepit bodies everywhere. Tombstones stole her attention, labeling never-ending rows of the dead—Lucille Butte, Sarah Butte, David Butte, Carrie Butte, Ebineezer Butte. Jim, John, Jason, Jerome. Butte. Butte. Butte. Butte!

A corpse with bedraggled remains of red hair and a squashed and pink hat approached Stella, hobbling from among the horde. Stella wished she could sink away into herself. It was too much to take in.

"My dear," her gravelly voice said as sweetly as a corpse could speak, and she reached a crusty hand to Stella's arm, "it is so good to have you join the family. I am so proud of my Billy boy."

A dead preacher appeared to her right. "Are we ready?" he asked, wearing a dirty and tattered priest's raiment.

"N-no," Stella said. "No. Stay back. Stay back."

"Cold feet," the groom's mother said.

"Cold feet," the priest agreed.

"Cold feet," the others echoed.

Billy suddenly emerged, taking his place beside the priest, and in front of Stella. "Cold feet?" He tilted his head. At least his skin wasn't falling off. In fact, he looked perfect as usual—light curls and intoxicating gray eyes.

"I'm scared," she told him.

"There's nothing to be scared about anymore. We're together, my love." He lifted her pale cold hand and kissed it with his even colder lips.

"Do you take this man...," the preacher started.

"I don't. No. I don't," Stella choked out and took a step back. Her heel snapped into one of the guest's foot bones. "Ew!" She stepped forward.

"...To be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"No."

"...To have and to hold."

"I said no."

"...In sickness and in, well, sickness."

"I don't. Please. I say no, no, no, no."

"Love, you are just like me now. Everything will be perfect now. Just say yes."

"I'm not like you, Billy."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

He gave a little wave for someone to come forward. It was the woman from the salon, threads still tying her skin together. She lifted a mirror for Stella to see herself. Stella reluctantly looked at the reflection—she had no skin whatsoever. Worms slithered through her cheek muscles and out her hollow eye sockets. "Aaaaaah!"

~~~~

Stella woke up, her breathing shallow and sweat across her forehead.

THIRTY-TWO

Maggie joined Stella and the rest of the PAA at an outdoor lunch table. "Hi! What are you doing here?" Stella asked her friend, surprised.

"Just dropping by." A Shoreline High visitor's pass stuck to Maggie's shirt, saying, "Patty Simcox." Stella eyed it, but decided against asking what story Maggie told the office ladies. "We all need to talk some more. I've come up with a plan."

"A plan?" they all said.

"Yes." Maggie opened a sack and pulled out a banana. "Stella, you've got to ask Damien on a date." She pointed with the piece of fruit.

"What?!" Stella could have choked on her sandwich. That was the last thing she expected to be said.

"Yeah. Think about it. Gordon's probably right. The scanner blinked in Damien's hands. He kept asking about werewolves. There were werewolf tracks around the inn. He's strong, and incredibly sexy. Hottie is a werewolf. And what we need right now, what you need right now, is a werewolf."

"Crap! You guys, he just asked me on a date the other day and I refused. I am tired of the merry-go-round. I do not want to ask Damien Capernalli on a date!"

Kit eyed her friend mischievously. "I know something you don't know."

"What?"

"Damien told me, back at the inn, that he was going to say yes to you asking him out. You know, that night Caleb and I had you follow through with your dare."

"But he said no."

"Did he really? Or did he say he had plans, and you went all 'bi-polar' on him?"

"Huh?" She jogged her memory and that actually seemed plausible. "Is that what he said? I went all bipolar on him?"

"Yeah." Kit laughed. "The guy has been interested in you from the start. Give the wolf a chance. You know you want him."

"Kit! You think he is a werewolf too?"

"Hey, I was the one who told you all he was turning into some sort of a monster. Totally. He is a wolf."

Stella had been thinking about it off and on all last night. She remembered the picture of the werewolf on Gordon's blog, of a beast by Damien's jeep. She also couldn't forget how Gordon was certain he saw a beast on their date, when in actuality he Tased Damien. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed possible. "But why? Why should I ask him on a date?"

"Well," Maggie said, "if you are comfortable with us point-blank asking him if he's a werewolf, then okay—he's right over there."

Stella turned around to see Damien standing in line to buy a Pepsi and Doritos with a couple of his friends. As if sensing her, he turned to look. She flitted her eyes away. Gah, he was still cute as ever.

"We should probably be really careful about this," Kit said, lowering her voice, and sounding worried. "We can't just confront him. He probably needs to earn our trust to open up. We saw how secretive he behaved on the trip. And Stella, if he likes you, then..."

"Exactly my point," Maggie said, and Caleb slowly nodded.

Gordon added, "I hate to agree, but asking him on a date does sound like a good idea. While you two are alone, he can open up to you."

"...But Gordon. Look what happened to you, when we went on a date. I don't want that to happen again to someone else. I'm not comfortable with that."

They sat there, stumped. Caleb tore into his beef stick before his eyes opened wide, like a light bulb just lit above his emo hairdo. "Bingo," he said. "I got it. If Billy is stalking Stella, then we just have to outsmart him. Stella, we need you to meet up with Damien somewhere. Have it look like you were just hanging out with me and Kit or something. Then, when the time is right, we get you and Damien alone together. That way it won't look like a date. That way, we can keep an eye on things, too, in case Billy tries lurking around. He probably won't attempt anything in public; we can go somewhere really busy, really hopping."

The only thing hopping in Shoreline were the frogs. The population sign at the edge of town barely broke the seven-thousand mark last spring. "Have you forgotten where we live, Caleb? The biggest news around here is the ninety-nine cent pancake special at KD's Diner. No, there is nothing hopping about this place."

"Nothing hopping right now," Kit said. "But next week is The Deathheads' Reunion Tour, just forty-five minutes from here."

A voice over the school's speaker-system, interrupted: "Mrs. Patty Simcox, please report to room thirty-two."

Maggie stood right up. "Gotta go, guys. Keep talking. This sounds really good."

Kit and Caleb eyed Stella as if awaiting something.

"What?" Stella finally asked.

"We're waiting for you to ask Damien on a date," Caleb said.

Stella fingered her long hair and huffed, feeling her heart rate speed up. "I'm having major déjà vu right now."

"You gotta do it," Kit said. "Ask him to go to the concert with you. I'll even give up my ticket so it can happen."

"Man..." She didn't want to do this. Okay, so she lied to herself; a big part of her did want to do this. The part of her who wanted a date, with or without her current situation with Billy.

Now Gordon eyed her expectantly. "Would you rather have me tell him you like him?" he asked.

"No, that is so fifth grade. I can do it."

"You can do it," Kit reassured.

"You can do it," the guys said.

"Okay, I'm going to do it."

By the time she stood up, she lost track of Damien. She turned around, eyeing the few other circular tables, packed with other teens. Then she saw him, sitting under a tree with a crowd of his surfer friends all around, and of course, a few gorgeous girls. Honestly, it had been easier the night of the dare, in Dough-licious. At least she had been able to talk to him alone. Now she had to approach him and his entourage. "Get a grip," she told herself and whipped her hair behind her. "You were popular once. It's not that big of a deal."

Like a heat-seeking missile, Stella's focus was completely on her one goal—asking hot stuff on a date. She marched over, wearing another preppie shirt and skirt, Doc Martin's still her choice of footwear. As she approached, all eyes looked up to her, lastly Damien's, covered by his cool shades. "Hi," she said.

His mouth hung half-open. "Uhhh, hey..."

"I want to ask you something," she said matter-of-factly.

"Okay." He didn't look too sure, as if he had done something wrong and was about to be chewed out for it.

"Will you go on a date with me to The Deathheads concert?"

A girl gave Stella the stink eye. "Deathheads?" she whispered with a teehee laugh.

"Well?" Stella prodded.

A smile grew on Damien's face, white-and-bright happy. "I will go with you. Of course."

"You're kidding. Right, brah?" Tyler asked Damien. "The Deathheads?"

"Nah. Brah. I'm not kidding. The Deathheads are... rad."

Stella softened, smiling back. It worked. "Meet me there."

When she returned to her table, Caleb offered her his hand for a high five. Normally she'd ignore it, but quickly decided it'd feel good to let out the built up energy. Too bad it nearly knocked Caleb off his seat, making him look at his stinging red palm in pain. "Now," she said, "all I gotta do is wait another week." Another week... She knew that would feel more like six months, in dating time.

THIRTY-THREE

Rock music blared a guitar solo from an iPod's speaker system. Damien stood in front of his bathroom mirror with a towel around his waist, and ran a comb through his wet hair. He was nervous. Really nervous. And excited. Never had he felt that way for any other girl.

He leaned against the counter and let out a long breath. It wasn't ideal that his father would be at the concert, along with them. Neither would it be ideal that he was told to meet her there. Still, a date with Stella is a date, so he couldn't complain.

Eyes settled on the few hairs on his chest. It was strange—he wasn't a werewolf anymore, but still needed to wax? He decided to forget about it, and instead patted some Cool Water aftershave along his chin and neck.

After changing into some dark jeans and checking how his butt looked in the mirror, there was a knock on his bedroom door. Damien pulled a simple black shirt over his head and let in his father. "Son, I'm glad we get to do this together." His father went and sat on the neatly made bed. He picked up the case for Teen Wolf and stared at it as he said, "I never really told you why your ma and I split. I told you that we decided it would be for the best, but I never told you why."

"Yeah?" Damien wondered what his father was getting at. Would he confess to being, or having been, a werewolf? "You can tell me anything," Damien assured, his interest causing his heart to pound.

"Yes, that's what I'm thinking." The DVD case was put back down, attention averted to nothing in particular. "I don't want to explain it all right now, but I believe you deserve a real answer. I'll make sure to tell you everything after the concert. How's that sound?"

"Alright, Dad." Damien scratched at his ear, still wondering. Ah, what the hay? "Does this... have to do with the moon?"

"The moon?"

"Or hair?" he further hinted.

"Hair?"

It was obvious his father wasn't following the clues. "Never mind I said that. How's my hair look?"

"Uh." His father stood. "You look good. You look fine. Why?"

"A-uh girl will be there."

"Ahhh, I see. You're a handsome dude." He winked. "Just like you're old man. A real lady-killer, bud. And, hey, you know what? If you see this girl tonight, I can leave you two to yourselves for a while. You can rock out together, and enjoy."

"You don't have to do that..."

"Nonsense. I remember when I was eighteen." He patted Damien on the shoulder. "Let's get outta here already."

*

"Aye, me mateys!" The strong sea wind rippled Damien's fur. A red bandana handsomely wrapped around his head, fuzzy ears poking out. "We've landed. We've beat Captain Dread. We've got us our chest o' pearls. And here is me lovely lady, me damsel in distress, me one and only true love."

Stella pressed into Damien's chest. He reached down with a paw, stroking her face. "It will just be the two of us from here on out."

"The adventure has just begun." She smiled sweetly.

"Aye, you be right about that." The wolf leaned in for a kiss.

The End.

Stella closed the book. It was only natural to imagine Damien as the hero and herself as the damsel in distress. So, the story was cheesy, but that wasn't the point. She knew from the moment she laid eyes on the piratey cover at the grange, she was in for something different. The point was... what if Damien were a werewolf? And then, what would that mean in context of what happened on the fieldtrip? she wondered. The conversation they had on the beach would make more sense, that was for sure.

Her cell phone vibrated. It was Kit. "Hello?"

"Hey, I'm out front. No sign of creepy."

"Okay, bye." Stella scooted off her bed and rushed downstairs. She could see the late afternoon sun try and push itself through the purposefully draped windows. After a quick peek through the peephole, just because, she opened the door.

"Hi!" Kit carried a makeup bag that looked more like a miniature suitcase. A super serious expression was plastered to her face. "Let's get to work!"

Stella sat in a robe on a cold toilet seat, as Kit enjoyed lecturing her. "No more super thick black liner. And what's with your lipsticks? If you ever wear any, they're always some shade of purple."

"I was paying homage to your hair."

Kit sputtered. "Stella, listen to me. I'm serious. I took professional makeup classes with my mom down at the community center. You know she's a Mary Kay consultant. Anyway, I have all the tricks down."

Stella had to admit to herself, Kit was good with her own makeup.

"I think I can do a good job with my makeup if you'd give me a chance, Kit. Remember I wasn't always Goth. I was one of the bubbly, popular girls back in my hometown."

"Hello? Didn't you hear what I said? Must I remind you my mom won her very own pink Cadillac in 1984 as a star makeup consultant?" Kit swabbed Stella's face with an astringent that made every pore scream.

"Holy cow. What is that stuff? Vodka?"

"Hush. Let me do my job."

Some cream was squirted under Stella's eyes. It smelled minty. "Now what's that stuff?"

Kit rubbed the translucent cold stuff around. "It makes sure you don't have bags under your eyes."

"I'm seventeen, Kit; not thirty-something."

Kit huffed and put a hand to her hip. "Do you want me to help you, or what, pooky?"

Stella honestly didn't care either way, but knew this was super important to her best friend, so she bent. "Yes."

"Alright then."

Stella closed her eyes and let Kit ramble on and on about this or that. Then the inevitable subject of Damien came up. "I know you're always, like, all rigid and goofy around him, but tonight you have to stop all that nonsense and be normal."

"Rigid and goofy?" Jeez, she knew she had been uncomfortable, but what the heck? "Are you serious or exaggerating? I don't look that bad around him, do I?"

"Um, yeah you totally do." A blush brush flicked across Stella's cheeks.

"Achoo!"

"Hold still." The brush resumed. "You've gotta get in the groove tonight. Not only do you need to stop looking so awkward around him, but you need to be really friendly. Flirt with him."

"Do you want me to be his girlfriend too?"

"Seriously, Stella. There's nothing wrong with flirting. Look, I did it for forever with Caleb."

"But you two are together right now."

"That's not the point. I didn't even know Caleb and I would get together. But this is a date. Flirting is basically mandatory."

"I didn't flirt with Gordon."

"Well, that's different."

"Yeah... He still kissed me, though."

"He what?!" Kit leaned against the sink's countertop in surprise.

"He did. He kissed me."

"Wow. That's, like, making me feel speechless right now."

"Which is a miracle, right?"

Kit returned with a dry washcloth, smacking Stella upside the head.

"I'm just sayin'..." Stella smiled.

"You're forgiven."

"Well, that's a relief."

"But you guys really kissed?"

"It was more like I was caught off guard."

"Gordon." Kit sighed, and got busy sorting some eye shadows. "I hope he feels a lot better soon."

"Yeah..."

"So, back to Damien. If you want to open up to him about Billy, and you want him to open up to you about being a werewolf, then you definitely need to flirt."

"Well, since you're giving me permission, I guess I better go all out. Where's the yellow string bikini?"

Another whap to Stella's head with the washcloth. "Hush."

Stella ripped the thing out of Kit's hand and playfully got her friend back. It was like that whap brought a sudden realization to Kit. She quickly sifted fingers through her short hair and said, "Caleb and I need to know what this Billy creep looks like. There's going to be tons of people there tonight, and we have to have your back."

"I didn't keep any pictures of him. I wanted to completely forget about him when I came here."

"Does he have a Facebook?"

"Billy?"

"Yeah."

"Now that I know what I know about him, that would be so weird."

"Everyone's on Facebook, Stella. It's how we got the four-one-one on Damien, remember? Even my uncle Harold has a profile—along with each of his cats."

"Weird."

"Yeah."

"How many cats?"

"Thirteen."

"Whoa."

"I know. Totally. And he knits them each their own Christmas sweater."

"Remind me to never meet this uncle of yours."

"Why? You afraid he'll make you a sweater?" Kit giggled.

"Cat ladies are strange enough."

Kit pulled her cell out of her jeans' pocket, and got right to bringing up the app. "What's Billy's full name?"

"Billy Butt. I mean Butte. No, never mind—it's probably under Esquire."

That earned a glare. "Multiple Personality Disorder?" Kit asked.

"He hates his real name."

"Alright, there's quite a few profiles pulling up." Kit turned the screen to Stella. "Do you see him in the lineup?"

Oh yeah, there he was alright. And looking as conceited as ever. "This one." Stella pointed.

Kit scrunched her nose. "For real? He's doing one of those shirtless poses in front of the bathroom mirror, where the toilet's right there in the background?"

"What can I say? He thinks he's all that."

"Apparently. But... he is pretty cute." Kit studied the picture from all angles. "I can see how you could get zombie-tranced. Oh, look, he says he's married, and to you."

THIRTY-FOUR

The sun looked as if it dipped into the ocean and colored its ripples pink. Stella anxiously stood in front of a large makeshift stage, set up on the warm sand. Not bad weather for Oregon, especially during fall. Her heart beat hard, waiting for the concert to start, and her eyes swept through the forming crowd multiple times, searching for Damien. Where was he?

Some roadies came out, setting up the drums and microphones. The curtain concealing backstage moved slightly, and Kit screamed out, "I think I saw Rock!"

"Where?" Stella's eyes zoomed right in, searching, but it was too late. "Hey, I thought you don't care about The Deathheads," she teased.

"Okay, I admit I'm excited." Kit playfully elbowed her. "With the way you've talked them up to me for the longest time, can you blame me?"

"I wish it was me who saw him."

"You'll get your fill at the meet and greet afterward."

Caleb made the cheesiest face possible, and said through Cheshire-cat-clenched teeth, "I'm excited, too. Can you tell?" He then screamed out, raising jazz hands like a total fangirl.

"You're such a dork," Kit said and Stella agreed.

Caleb reached up and screamed again. "Woooo!"

Stella and Kit copied him, caught up in the moment.

"Start it with me," Caleb said, and chanted, "Deathheads! Deathheads! Deathheads!"

That got the rest of the crowd chanting. "Deathheads! Deathheads! Deathheads!" In the middle of the excitement, still chanting, Stella swept her eyes across the crowd again in search of her date. Instead, she caught sight of the back of a guy with light curly hair. Billy? Instantly, she stopped chanting, and the rest of the voices slowed and faded into the background. The guy turned to talk to someone, and she sighed. It wasn't her zombie ex.

Where was Damien, though? The thought nagged at her as she ran her fingers through her long locks, the ends in ringlets for the occasion. It may have been a while ago she lived in Idaho, but she didn't forget the more playful, girly way she used to dress. Damien couldn't be the only hottie tonight. He wouldn't think of her as just Stella, the quirky PAA president he nearly kissed; the one with a loony ex-boyfriend. No, tonight he'd think of her as the hot girl. She'd make certain of it... if he'd ever show up.

*

The scent of the fresh ocean breeze and fizzy beer filled Damien's senses. It was perfect. And the energy the massive audience gave off felt contagious. The opening band was also really good, but his attention quickly focused on finding Stella. Taller than many there, he could easily look out across the sea of people moving together like one giant being. Then, there she was. Way up ahead, at the very front row. He was pretty certain. She had long full hair, now a dark brown color, and slender arms shooting to the sky.

It would take some miracle like Moses with a staff to open a path to her, and he rolled his eyes back. He should have known, since The Deathheads were her favorite band in the whole world. He rubbed at his neck, frustrated he didn't think to leave extra early.

What more, when he turned to say something, his dad was gone. Did he get swept away in the throng by accident? He peered around, searching. Then someone tapped on his shoulder, and a deep voice said, "Damien Capernalli?"

Damien turned to see a hulking man, taller and even more muscular than himself. The man's head was shaved and a ring went through his nose. Damien had to admit, it freaked him out a moment. "Yeah?"

"Come with me. Your dad gave me your front row tickets." A smile calmed his heart. Damien followed. The man could definitely part a sea as well as Moses. Nobody dared question his booming voice, "Let us through. Excuse me. Move aside." The giant eventually got right up to where Stella had her hands up in excitement toward the lead guitarist. Damien gladly accepted the offer to squish beside his hot date, and his helper left.

Stella instantly swept her eyes up to him and slapped a hand to her mouth. "Aaa! It's you!"

That response would definitely do. He never saw her so excited. The atmosphere brought out a side to her he never saw before... Plus, her big green eyes emphasized by sparkling shadow and full lips emphasized by ruby red lipstick, were to die for. Damien wanted to sweep her up into a kiss right there. Instead he leaned down and gave her a warm embrace. She felt so small in his arms, and when he let her loose, his hand naturally stayed at the small of her back, rubbing through her tank top.

*

Stella caught her breath, feeling Damien's hand on her back. She was hyper-aware of him, even though there was so much activity all around. He looked especially nice and smelled so good. There was some sort of cool cologne scent she noticed when they had hugged. Kit inconspicuously nudged Stella, showing her excitement as well.

After the band played several songs, there was a break, as the roadies came back onto the stage, rearranging equipment. Kit and Caleb made an excuse to use a restroom or something, and Stella was alone. Well, there were still hundreds of people around, but they were alone as much as they would get.

"Soooo," Damien said, looking down at her with his brown eyes.

"Soooo," she repeated. Start asking him werewolfy questions! she reminded herself. He went to loop a finger around one of hers by her side. She slyly slipped out of the move and gave a teasing smile. "I've been thinking about how werewolves are your favorite creatures..."

Damien scratched the back of his neck, already looking uneasy. "Go on..."

"Okay. So I just finished reading the book you caught me red-handed with at a PAA meeting."

An amused smile replaced his uneasiness. "Yes? So it wasn't Caleb's." His eyes sparkled mischievously.

"No, I'm a terrible liar. So I confess. Anyway, I have to say I kept having the strangest thoughts while reading it."

"Like what?" The smile remained steady and waiting.

"Okay, you may think I'm totally weird, but I kept thinking of you as the werewolf."

A chuckle escaped his mouth, and he covered it with a hand. "That's funny."

"Is it...?" Stella tested.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

He shrugged, obviously forcing his smile to stay shut.

Okay, she had to go in for the kill. Obviously Damien was into her. For whatever reason he wasn't holding back his interest any longer. Asking her on a date, and him accepting this one, was evidence enough. Oh, and of course, there was that time when he begged her on her front lawn to kiss him; that being one of the more fond memories of the bunch. "I have a secret." She arched an eyebrow, hoping to look playful enough, and hoping he would bite.

"What's your secret?" A dark brow of his raised, mirroring hers.

She glanced around to the crowd, and motioned with a finger for him to come closer to her mouth, so she could whisper it in his ear. He did just that. She said, "Werewolves are kinda cute."

Damien turned to her, his eyes narrowed. "Why are you saying this to me?"

"Don't you know?"

His gaze stayed steady on hers. They were so close to one another. "I can take a wild guess, I guess."

"Alright. Let it be as wild as you want. What's your guess?"

"I thought you don't believe in this stuff..., but are you wondering if I'm a werewolf?"

An amplifier boomed, and Stella looked up to see sparks and smoke. The crowd gave out a uniform whoa in surprise. "What happened?" she asked.

"I don't know. Too much plugs sharing an outlet or something."

A roadie came rushing back out. He unplugged it and swiftly moved it off stage, and Stella returned her attention to her evasive date. She had to play a little harder hard-ball. She pulled together all her confidence from past experiences of successfully flirting with boys back in Idaho, then gave it all she got. A finger touched his bicep and trailed down the muscles of his forearm. His eyes looked down to her more intense. Holy hotness, why did he have to look so good?! Okay, this little test was bringing with it side effects she just couldn't control, like feeling a combination between wanting to blush and wanting to devour him. "You're so strong, Damien. Just like a werewolf." She forced her finger to finish its course, and then thoughtfully worked on extinguishing her fire within, pulling her hand back to her side.

Damien reached for her hand again, and she again successfully slipped out of the grip. "You tease," he said, but the glint in his eyes showed he was having fun with the cat and mouse chase.

"Do you ever just feel like howling?" She changed direction, looking up to the full white orb in the sky.

Damien quirked an eyebrow and shared in looking up at the moon with her.

"You can tell me...."

"Why do you think I'm a werewolf?" He went for her hand once again, and once again she moved away. He was persistent, she had to admit. But so was she.

Stella turned her gaze back to Damien's eyes. "I'm a believer now. I know paranormal things exist, Damien. Werewolves are real."

"Do you want me to be a werewolf, Stella?" His tone was so serious, and so were his eyes.

"Y-yes," she let out.

Damien looked away from her, back up to the moon. "There it is," he said.

"Huh?"

"The moon has been completely up and full, the sky completely black. Do you see me changing into any beast?" He looked back down to her.

Those words made a double-whammy impact to her stomach and her heart. "N-no, I guess I don't." How confusing, yet obvious. "You're not a werewolf," she said slowly in realization.

A hand of his caressed one of her cheeks, and she felt sort of in shock still. The way her friends had been so certain, it made her feel certain. Now, none of that made a difference. "I'm not a werewolf," he said softly. "But if me being a werewolf would make your night, then for the first time ever I wish that I was a werewolf."

Stella took in a much-needed deep breath. At least she got her answer. "It's okay," her voice drooped.

He removed his hand from her cheek and looked away from her. "A little too late," she was sure he said.

"Huh?"

He turned back to her and didn't say anything. She wished she could read his mind. He was a hard book to read by its cover alone. Her assumptions had been wrong too many times. Then her attention was suddenly drawn to the slight bruises on his neck. "What happened?" She pointed at one.

"It's nothing," he said, shaking his head.

"Hickies?"

His eyebrows went up to that. "No."

She wasn't sure what skeptical face she made in response, but he said firmly, "No, Stella. These aren't hickies."

"Well, what happened, then?"

His eyebrows furrowed, and it looked as if he was struggling with whether to say something or not.

"If you don't tell me, then I'll definitely think they are hickies."

Damien exhaled a long breath through puffed cheeks. "I got into a fight."

"A fight?"

"Yeah..."

"Why didn't you just say so?"

"I don't know." He glanced away and then back, looking slightly annoyed. "But, listen, Stella—I'm not one of these guys who just likes to mess around with girls. I wouldn't have asked you on a date if I was."

She felt her face flush, feeling embarrassed over being wrong about him yet again. Damien's hand felt for hers again. The thought of Billy nearly made her snap away from him, but she didn't. If Billy was watching her, from wherever, she was sure there was no way he could see the hand-holding through the crowd. And the flirty interrogation was done; she got her answer. Now, she wanted nothing more than to feel Damien's fingers laced between hers, warm and affectionate.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said into her ear. His voice was like honey on her soul. Too bad there had to be a pesky Billy-bee buzzing around somewhere ready to sting the happiness out of her. But just for that moment, she closed her eyes, and let herself drift away. Here she was with Damien Capernalli, the guy she had been riding a bumpy rollercoaster with over the last couple months. The guy she was sure she knew along the way, but with every dip and turn, she found out there was more to him, more to learn. He was a guy with many layers, constantly surprising her.

Stella thought to seize the moment by asking him a personal question. She had been so self-absorbed coming to her own conclusions without once thinking to ask him his point of view. "How are things going with your dad?"

"Things are... good. You met him at the bed and breakfast, right?"

"Right."

"I'm still in awe that I finally met him."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He actually bought me tickets to the concert before you asked me to come. He's around here somewhere..."

That made her perk up. "He's here? Where?" She watched him sweep his eyes across the crowd.

"I don't know. He knows I was meeting you, and had said he would give us alone time. I assume that's what he's doing—giving us alone time. I think he's being very careful in all he does to please me. He doesn't have to try so hard, though I understand he's wanting to make things up to me."

Stella nodded. She hadn't seen her dad in just like three months, and thought that was pretty hard. She couldn't imagine not knowing her father at all and finally just meeting him. "How's your mom doing?"

Stella felt his hand tense in hers, and he looked off at nothing in particular. "Ma died a year ago. Car accident."

Wow, she totally forgot his dad told her she passed away. She felt horrible for asking. "I'm sorry..."

"It's okay. I mean, it's not okay that she's gone. But it's okay that you asked. You didn't know. I miss her. Believing that I'll see her again one day helps me get through the pain of losing her. I live with my aunt and uncle. They've been great to me. Treating me like I'm one of their own, you know. They actually never had kids. They couldn't have kids."

Stella nodded, taking it in, and she automatically stroked his forearm affectionately. "Where'd you move from?"

"I lived on the east coast, in Jersey. Moving out here was a big change. The way people talk, the small town, all of it. In Jersey I blended in a lot more. There's way more competition in sports, for example, when you've got like a thousand kids to your junior class."

"That's a lot of people! What was dating like? Someone new every week?"

Damien chuckled and looked down at her. "No. I know you see me as some guy who's played around a lot with girls. And I have—kind of. But not that much. I had a girlfriend for a little while and went to dances with a few girls and stuff. When I came out here, it was like suddenly every girl was taking notice. For homecoming, I was asked out by three different girls. I never had a girl ask me on a date. That was kind of weird, and I admit an ego booster."

"Did you get a big head?"

Damien rubbed his chin and laughed. "It did get pretty big. And I did date too much. I was actually going to rule out all girls for a while. I was tired of them, and tired of myself and how I am with them."

"...But you asked me on a date?"

"True."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Stella huffed and eyed him.

"Alright, I do know. You're different."

"Well, I know I'm not like Tina, the cashier at the pizza place, but what do you mean?"

"You remember that night you came to Dough-licious?"

She rolled her eyes. "How can I forget?"

"When I first saw you, there was something... something I felt inside that was just different from when I looked at other girls. I remember your big green eyes."

Stella smiled to that.

"...And they looked sad."

"Sad?"

"Yeah, they were so serious and somber. Maybe somber is a better word for it, I don't know."

Stella stayed quiet, letting him continue.

"But not only that—they were really pretty. And they told a story other girls' eyes didn't. I thought about you and your eyes for a long time after that, and knew that I just had to get to know you. I had to find the reason for their sadness. And not only that—I had to know what you looked like happy. And I wanted to be the one to make you happy."

His words were so amazingly touching and unlike anything she expected him to say, that it made her feel like tearing up. And she did. Just a little. Damien wiped the single tear that trailed down her cheek. "I said I wanted to be the one to make you smile, not cry."

Stella took both of her palms and rubbed away the remaining tears threatening to fall. "I know." She chuckled. "I'm sorry. It's just, I'm surprised I could be read that easily. And by basically a stranger."

"Why have you been sad?" He wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his hands around her stomach, and nestling her against his chest.

"You already know part of it is Billy. Because of him, I had to move away from my dad and start all over at a new school. I guess you can say I'm more of a daddy's girl."

"That's cute. I'm sorry to hear that. And we both started new at Shoreline?"

"Yeah."

"Interesting..."

"Damien," Stella turned around and looked into his eyes, still in his embrace, "Billy's a zombie."

His eyes went wide and he nodded slowly, as if it actually made sense to him. "I believe you."

"That's why I wanted you to be a werewolf."

"Why? What would that mean?"

"Werewolves are like natural-born zombie killers. Billy is not only still stalking me, as you know, but he promised to turn me into... into one of them." She shuddered, and his strong arms wrapped tighter around her body.

She was quiet for a while and so was he, and she just let the beat of his heart thump in her ear, drowning out all other sounds. Finally, she pulled off his chest and said, "I'm being really selfish right now."

"What do you mean?" His brown eyes looked down sympathetically.

"Billy doesn't want me dating anybody. I-um went on a date with Gordon for the heck of it a little while ago. Actually, the night I pepper sprayed you—so sorry about that still, by the way. Anyway, well, Billy beat him up pretty badly. He had to go to the emergency room in an ambulance."

"Really? Gordon? To hell with Billy," he said, his jaw tightening. "I won't let him hurt you or me, Stella. I'm still pretty strong. I'll kick his—"

"No, Damien. You won't. You can't. Zombies aren't what you think. They're really, really strong. He can hurt you... or worse."

"Billy? Hurt me? That's not how it went down the other day in the parking lot at school."

"What are you talking about?"

"These bruises you thought were hickies are from the fight I had with him."

"He... fought you?" Instantly she felt a pang in her stomach, and she pulled completely out of his hold. "Yeah, I shouldn't be doing this with you. He's probably already seen us." She darted her eyes around, but her body was freaking out so much it made everyone look like a uniform blur.

"Yeah, but don't worry, Stella. I'm not hurt."

She looked back to him and her eyes focused, though her heart still beat wildly. "You were just really lucky. Holy cow, I can't believe you fought Billy."

"It's okay. Really. It's okay. He left more wounded than me."

"He did?"

"Yeah, I socked him in the face, and he took off running. And I'm not going to let him intimidate me. I finally get a date with you, Stella. I'm not going to give up now. Not until I at least see your beautiful eyes truly happy." He rubbed a thumb over her cheek, and she felt like melting right there. Just his touch could change her from completely upset to completely smitten.

"I don't want you to give up either," she said before thinking.

"I won't then...."

THIRTY-FIVE

Damien would have kissed Stella right then, but something prevented him from doing that just yet. So instead, he pressed his lips to her knuckles. He watched with satisfaction how Stella's thick lashes fluttered closed at the sensation. "I won't let him hurt you, Stella. I'm here for you."

She reached around his torso, and he held her tight, breathing deeply the scent of her hair, like flowers. He saw Kit and Caleb weave themselves back to the front row, and Stella's best friend actually smiled at him when they made eye contact. That's right—she probably expected him to be a werewolf. The whole PAA probably had their hunches, hoping he would be the key to ridding Stella of Billy for forever.

An electric guitar solo soon announced the start of The Deathheads' session, cutting into Damien's thoughts. He squeezed Stella's hand in anticipation and looked up to the stage's sturdy overhang, where red stage lights shot around in different directions. One large spotlight turned on from down below, beaming up to where Rick the Rock had been waiting in the shadows on a rafter. The rocker jumped off, surprising everyone, and swooped over the stage like a bat. The audience roared in approval, and Rock somersaulted in the air several times as some fire shot out from all around the stage in big sparkling booms. When he glided down, he landed on the seat of an awaiting motorcycle, and revved it up. The electric guitar continued in high warbling notes as a fog misted the stage.

Stella raised Damien's hand up with hers and together they yelled out in excitement. The motorcycle popped up on its back tire, and with a squeal of its rubber, Rock did donuts. Flames followed his course, making a ring of fire in the center of the stage.

The superstar hadn't sung one note yet, and already Damien was super pumped. It all flooded back to him—why he loved this group so much as a boy, and why their songs were so nostalgic today: Rock was one heck-of-a performer. Maybe even the best ever. Like if the great magician-slash-stunt-devil Harry Houdini and the king of rock Elvis Presley himself made a baby, the result would be Rock.

*

The line for the Meet and Greet was way longer than Stella had anticipated. She thought only a select few would get to see rock stars backstage. Not even close. Tonight there was a line of at least a hundred people waiting at the entrance of a large event tent, and somehow, she and her friends were the very last in line.

Rick the Rock extended a hand with gigantic silver rings. "And who is this lovely lady?"

"Your number one fan!" Caleb declared, prodding Stella forward.

"She's been talking about you guys nonstop ever since we met," Kit said.

Stella felt herself blush to that, and she smiled straight ahead to Damien, who was flashing a picture of her with the super star. The rocker put an arm around her shoulder, and she could hardly believe it. An arm around her shoulder! She couldn't help but feel like an eleven-year-old girl, wanting to hop up and down and all around. She could even smell Rock's famous hairspray. For a split second she considered reaching up and touching his "do." The seventeen-year-old, more rational side to her, nipped that desire in the bud.

"Can you sign my CD?" She pulled the case out of her short's back pocket, and he gladly took it and proceeded to sign it with a Sharpie.

"Stella knows everything about you," Kit said.

"I'm sure she doesn't know everything," Rock responded, passing the CD and marker to his guitarist. "What's my birthday?"

"March 9, 1965," Stella answered.

"My favorite food?"

"Pizza."

"That was an easy one. How about where I was born."

"Jersey City, New Jersey."

"How many children do I have?"

"None."

"Wrong."

"Wrong?" Stella had read pretty much every biography on the super star. She would surely know whether or not he had children... wouldn't she?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid you don't know that much...."

"But—"

"C-Lo," he said to his drummer, "I'm sure my makeup is dripping from running all over the stage. Throw me my water bottle, will ya?"

Rick pulled off his shirt. For a guy who loved glitter, makeup and hairspray, the six pack under his shirt was quite the surprise. He doused the shirt with what was left of the water and proceeded to wipe the silvery stuff off his face.

Stella looked at her friends to see if they had any idea how big of a deal this was. "You're going to show us your face?"

"Sure. Our gig is up. We're retired." He still rubbed, his face covered. "Why not?"

"You've refused to show yourself to Diane Sawyer, Oprah Winfrey, Ellen..."

"I don't know them from Adam. They're just others in the entertainment industry." He held the shirt over his face, as if reconsidering, then removed the thing. Rock suddenly looked like a regular guy, just with big hair... and sparkly black pants. He didn't look like anyone in particular, though he had one of those faces that could fit as a next door neighbor or the bagger at the grocery store.

Rock said to Damien, "You okay? You look upset."

Stella saw the fallen expression on her date's face. "I'm fine," he said. "It's nothing."

"What was it? Did I ruin the magic by showing myself?"

"No, I guess I just—with the way you said you were from New Jersey, born in 1965—"

"Yeah?"

"You said you had a kid. And, well, my dad came with me to the concert, but then just suddenly disappeared. I was just adding things up in my mind. I guess I just had a stupid idea that, you know—"

"That I was your father?"

"Uh... yeah."

"No, I ain't your father. My boy's not born yet. He's still in his mother's womb. That's why your girlfriend here got that answer wrong, because there was no way she coulda known."

After taking a zillion and a half photos with the band, they walked out of the event tent content. Well, except for Damien. Stella could see something eating at him.

The stage was already halfway taken down, and the beach was eerily quiet, except for Kit and Caleb walking beside them, rambling on about whatever. "What's the matter?" Stella looked up to Damien.

He softly kicked at the sand as they went, and cast his eyes around. "My dad is still gone."

"Do you think he went home?"

"Nah. I drove and have the keys right here in my pocket." He jingled them.

"Can you call him?"

Damien instantly stopped in his tracks and pulled out his phone. He thumbed across its screen a few times, then put it to his ear. Kit and Caleb stopped and watched. The call apparently went to voice mail and Damien redialed a couple more times with no luck. "It's just really weird," he said, concern taking over his expression more and more. "Where is he?"

A chill went up Stella's neck. Billy. "Did anyone see Billy tonight?"

Caleb shook his head and so did Kit.

"Are you looking for us?" a voice said in the distance. Stella whipped around to see the shadowy figure of Billy... with an arm around Rock's throat?

Stella let go of Damien's hand and felt her chest tighten. "Billy! What are you doing?"

"Just taking a stroll with your date's father," he said, coming closer.

"That's not my father!" Damien called out. Stella could see the veins in his arms as he clenched his fists.

"That's not his father," Stella repeated.

Billy laughed to that. "Oh, I'm pretty sure this is. He told me so himself. Now why would he lie?" His arm stayed around the man's neck as they moved in a little closer.

"You don't know what you're talking about. Let him go." Damien took some cautious steps toward them.

Billy came closer and now Stella could clearly see his face. It wasn't as beautiful as usual. Stitches went all around his cheek, reminding her of the zombie girl from her dream. There was also a maniacal look in his dark eyes. "Hi, Stella," he said and smiled. "I've missed you."

"Let him go, Billy." Stella glanced to Rock who had his makeup back on, and was pulling on Billy's arm, trying to release himself from his squeeze.

"I don't really want to do that just now, my love."

Damien stepped closer, and Billy threatened, "I'll snap his neck. Don't come any closer. I have a trade in mind. I get Stella and you get your father."

"But I told you—he's not my father."

Billy loosened his arm's grip. "Say hi to your son."

The man choked.

"Say hello to your son. It's rude not to do so."

"H-hello," he said to Damien.

Damien narrowed his eyes. "Dad?"

"Yes, it's me."

"...But I just met Rock. Why are you dressed like this?"

Billy spoke for him. "He's Rock's stunt double. Pretty nifty, huh? What? You didn't know he had a stunt double?"

"I didn't know anything about my father before a month ago, you slime. Let him go!"

"Alright, give me Stella."

Stella interjected, "I am nobody's to be given or taken! Let him go, Billy. This has gone too far. Even you must have some self respect left somewhere deep inside your rotten soul."

"Actually, you're quite wrong about that, my dear. My self-respect left long ago, when you refused me. I could have lived a normal life, otherwise. And I—I would have made you a happy mate. You see, there's hundreds of years left to my life, unlike... Damien here, who will be worm food, decaying in a putrid pool of his own bile ever before me." He pushed his hostage to the sand, and stepped forward slowly. "Stella, you have no idea what kind of mistake you have made. Choosing this guy over me. I would have given you anything."

Stella got to her knees, not even feeling the warmth of the sand, as she was so involved with her plea. She pressed her hands together and shook. "Billy, please. I'm begging you right now. If you love me, let me be." A tear rolled down her cheek.

Billy's eyes seemed to show a split-second light of compassion, before he grabbed her by the hair and jerked her. Her scalp burned from the force. "If I don't turn you, you will be with this fool."

"I saved your life, down at the other beach! I saved your life!" Damien's voice echoed in Stella's ears. "Let her go!"

"I'll kill her if you touch me!"

"I'll kill you if you don't let go!"

Billy crouched over her. She couldn't see anything, and all she could smell was his foul dirt odor enveloping her. There was more yelling, and she buried her face against the sand. A continual commotion rocked her around and the heaviness of Billy against her was too much to lift. Then came a sharp pain, shooting through her upper arm; it stung like being filled with an acid. She screamed out, letting her body crumple more as the fire within spread from her arm and quickly into her chest, then down her legs. Burned alive! was all she could think. Burned alive!

The heaviness left her, and she could hear like in a far off distance, down a dark tunnel, "It's been done. She's mine."

Stella opened her eyes and peered through her fog. Billy had a hand pressed against her neck, but not so much that it hurt, or that she felt it whatsoever, for that matter. "Leave us be," he said, still sounding far away. "She's mine now. There's nothing you can do. If you kill me, then she'll have no one like her to care for her, to love her, to understand her as I do. She'll be left alone in her treacherous state for the rest of her days."
THIRTY-SIX

Damien's nostrils flared and he felt his chest heave. Anger pushed blood and adrenaline through his veins so strongly, he could actually feel its hot course. For a moment, he forgot he wasn't a werewolf any longer. "Stella wouldn't want you either way. You've made a big mistake. I'm going to rip you to shreds."

"I'm afraid we can't let you do that," said a woman's voice from behind. She was heavyset, wearing a polka-dotted sundress, and looked vaguely familiar. Beside her stood a heavy man with a twirled mustache. "Billy's our boy. And we approve of his choice for marriage. Stella's a darling girl."

"Marsha?" Stella's eyes narrowed up at the woman, from her crumpled position on the ground. A light went on in Damien's head—the bunny-foo-foo, slipper-wearing strangers who stayed with the PAA.

"Call me Mom, dear." Marsha stepped toward Stella with a beaming smile. "You already met Grandma. And don't worry, dear—I don't blame you one bit for what happened. It was her time." She winked.

Billy smiled wickedly, and said to Damien. "Looks like you lose. There's three of us and one of you. And, well, without your powers anymore, you can't really rip me to shreds, can you?"

Damien darted his eyes around, expecting to also see Kit and Caleb somewhere. Or at least his father. But none of them were around any longer. Figured. And he didn't really blame them either.

"This can't be happening," he said.

"Oh, but it is!" Marsha cooed, then put a hand to Damien's arm affectionately. "Honey, you're a fine-looking young man. You'll be just fine. And we're going to take care of Stella, so you don't need to worry about her."

"But she doesn't want to go with you guys."

"Oh, yes, she does, honey. She just doesn't know it yet. Tonight we'll head back down to California, back to the little bed and breakfast, and turn it into our home. She'll still be by a beautiful beach, and it will be so much warmer down there. Now that she's one of us, it's important to keep her warm, you know. Oregon just isn't going to cut it, and neither is Idaho."

Suddenly Damien's blood felt like it drained from his body, as he stood there, honestly, a bit confused.

"You see," the woman went on, "she's not just marrying Billy. She's marrying us. We'll all be there for her. It's for the best. And, golly, I've been waiting a century for my boy to choose a bride. As a mother, you have no idea how painful the wait has been for not just him, but for me too."

"Is there any way to change Stella back? Back to her normal self?"

The woman's husband chuckled to that, and she said, "No. No, no, no, no. She's turned, and there's no way of changing back. No reverse button. Boop! She's a zombie. And a mighty pretty one, I might add. This one is a keeper, for sure."

Moments later, Damien helplessly watched a zombie-filled station wagon pull away, taking with them Stella. In anger and frustration, he turned to his jeep and kicked it as hard as he could before slumping down to the ground, and dipping his head between his knees. "You were a coward," he told himself. "But there was nothing I could do. Coward!"

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, dazed; but, eventually, a few howls pierced the night sky, catching his attention.

THIRTY-SEVEN

The ride down south to California felt extra long and extra bumpy. Stella was still in her drug-like stupor. At least she felt no pain. Gah, she hated the fact that her head was on Billy's lap, but there wasn't much she could do about it but grunt.

"If you could say how you're feeling, I know it would be 'I love you,'" he said softly.

Oh, how she really just wanted to punch his face in. His stitched up face in. She started to tell him just how much she hated him, but again it came out as nothing but a stupid grunt.

"You'll be able to speak again soon enough. Walking normally will come in time, too, my darling. These are just side effects of being new to our lifestyle. The chemicals in your body will start to work with you, rather than against you. And I can't wait to see you walking down the aisle, and saying 'I do.'"

*

The next morning, Marsha happily perched Stella on a dining room chair at the old inn like she were her personal doll. Though a pink hat sat atop Stella's head (not of her own choice), her neck slumped to the side like a puppet without a hand; but whatever—good impressions were not important under the circumstances. The wannabe zombie-in-law was already discussing... well, telling... Stella what her "Big Day's" colors would be.

"Periwinkle and lime green! My favorites. Now, I've already placed an order in this morning for napkins in both those colors. Oh my, I should have told them I'd also need matching plates. Well, that's okay—I'll just make a call this afternoon.

"Besides the colors, honey, we need to come up with a floral motif. Now, I was thinking carnations. Carnations are so cheery and scream celebration. Plus, it has great symbolic meaning in certain Asian cultures."

Boy, if Stella had a mouth about her, snarky comments would be issuing forth from her like never before.

"Roses, Mother," Billy said nonchalantly on his way past them. "She loves roses. Black in particular."

"Black?" Marsha pressed a hand to her chest. "My-my. Well, that just won't do. What girl ever said a black rose was their favorite flower? That is just bizarre. Roses I'm fine with. I wonder if I could order them in periwinkle. That would be just divine. Periwinkle roses it is, then. I'm glad we can have this talk.

"Where was I?" She pressed a fake nail at her scrawled list of to-do's. "Oh, right—the wedding party. I've already decided I'll be your maid of honor. I know what tradition says about it, but I don't give a rat's hooey about tradition in this case. As your new mom, I want to be front and center at the ceremony. And don't worry—Ted will walk you down the aisle, since your father can't attend."

This woman had to be the absolute stupidest thing in existence, Stella mused. No way was anybody walking her down an aisle. There wouldn't even be a wedding.

*

Um, yeah... So, as it turned out, it didn't really matter what Stella thought—wedding preparations continued in full swing over the next few weeks. She actually became thankful she hadn't been able to speak her thoughts, or give Marsha the stink eye those first couple weeks. No, it would be better to pretend she was happy for the impending wedding, in hopes that they may take her out someday, around other people, like at a bridal store. Then, she would escape. It would definitely be safer to sneak away with lots of other people around, and not in the middle of nowhere.

And her age? That didn't matter either. Billy already beat her to the punch, anyway, by saying, "When you're a zombie, age doesn't make a difference anymore." Well—it still made a difference to her! And the fact that telemarketers were destined to call her Mrs. Butt for the rest of her existence was the least of her worries. For one, seventeen was way too young to get married. And two—if Billy's exterior were to show his real age, he'd be seen as one majorly perverted geezer.

Every day she wondered where the heck Damien was. She understood that while being surrounded by zombies, there wasn't anything he could do about the kidnapping. But would he also leave her to live the rest of her life with zombies? She didn't want to be like one of those stereotypical damsels in distress in romance books, who just knew their hero was coming to save them. The truth was, she didn't know whether or not he'd come; she only hoped he would come. And she had to be honest with herself: the fact that she was now a zombie as well, gave her extra reason to doubt he'd ever be coming.

A month and a half after being kidnapped, Stella's body was starting to catch up with her brain, coming out of its stupor. She could finally sit at the dinner table and eat, for instance, without the assistance of Billy forking her too much at once. A couple times she had spit her food at him in defiance, and he just wiped at his face with a handkerchief as if it was nothing out of the ordinary; like all he had was a dangling booger. They told her day in and day out that she was eating meatloaf, and she desperately hoped that meant beef and not brains. She didn't believe all the talk about her having an insatiable desire for brains basically wired into her; the thought of it made her want to puke.

Stella wasn't once let out of the inn, even to go for a walk in the woods or down at the beach. Her kidnappers told her it was too risky. They even chopped down the mailbox at the end of the driveway and cancelled the newspaper subscription, in fear that someone may get too close to the house, and Stella would go berserk trying to eat a live person.

"We don't eat the living," Marsha had told her quite possibly a hundred times by now.

The thought of her parents was always either at the back or front of her mind. They were always with her that way. They probably put out missing person posters all over the Western United States by now. Her mother surely stocked up on more guns and ammo, in hopes to kill the bastard who took her. Her father would be in correspondence with all the local and national media as the spoke-person with all his eloquent lawyer-like speeches. That all sounded ideal, but realistically it depressed her further. Because she knew that once she did bust out of there, things could never be the same. Their hopes would be up so high, only to come crashing way down.

She would never be like their old daughter.

Besides, it would be only a matter of time before they'd suspect her lack of aging, and figure out her obsession with Mentos covered what was sure to be a major case of halitosis—too bad there's no way to smell your own breath, she thought after breathing into her hand once again, trying to get a whiff. She was a freaking zombie.

THIRTY-EIGHT

~~Back at the night of The Deathheads' concert~~

"Why didn't you tell me?" Damien kicked a random beer can near his jeep in frustration.

"I was going to tell you."

"And this is why you couldn't be in my life all this time? Because you were touring with The Deathheads? You aren't even a member of their band!"

It got quiet. Damien turned back around to see what his father was doing. He was still standing there, beside the jeep, completely in the makeup and costume. "You're right," he finally responded.

"What?"

"You're right. It was stupid and selfish. I chose the life of a rock star without any of the real glory. Your mother and I tried making it work for the first couple years of your life, but I was gone too long. And the girls, the groupies, were more than willing to sleep with me, and I didn't tell a one of them I wasn't who they thought I was."

"That's just wonderful!" Damien kicked another beer can, and it popped high in the sky and fell somewhere far away onto the beach below. "Not only did my father leave his family, he cheated on my ma!" He slumped over his hood and cried, not caring to be seen that way. Always known for being strong, this was one moment he felt like a baby.

"I let Stella go." Damien cried some more, and wiped his eyes. "I'm no better. Like father, like son, huh? I'm a coward who didn't own up. Like father, like son."

The sound of sniffling, coming from somewhere other than his own nose, surprised Damien. He looked back up through blurry tears, and saw his dad wiping his own eyes with his forearms. "I'm sorry, bud. I was a jackhole. A real jackhole. And I was too afraid to tell ya. It doesn't feel good being found out for the scum you truly are by your own son." His father stepped closer to him, and the silver makeup was all streaked over his cheeks. "I wanted to come clean to you tonight, because I thought it would be easier. I wanted you to be all excited about the concert, and see what I do, and have some sort of understanding, and maybe even look up to me a bit. But that was just plain asinine. Why would my son suddenly forgive me for not being there for him for eighteen years of his life, over a few pop-a-wheelies and blasts of fire? So I don't blame you for feeling the way you do. You should feel that way, in fact. I deserve it. Every bit of it."

"Yes, you do."

"Yes, I do."

They both leaned over the hood side by side.

"Are you a werewolf, Pa?"

"You called me Pa."

"Are you a werewolf?" Damien breathed in with a shudder, composing himself.

"No."

*

"Damien Capernalli, please report to room 201. Damien Capernalli, room 201." He set down his Pepsi on the lunch table and stood up, thinking it very strange to hear his own name over the school's loud speaker.

"What's that about?" Tyler asked, swiping the soda and taking a swig.

"I don't know."

"You busted?"

"For what?"

"Well, I don't know. Room 201 is detention hall. You musta done something. Hurry back to tell us what's up."

His group eyed him as if he won a trophy, like he did something worthy of getting rewarded for. "I'll see ya," Damien said, and took off.

Once inside room 201, Damien quickly realized he was all alone but one other person. "Maggie? What's up?"

"Sh! First of all, read the nametag. Here, I'm not Maggie; I'm Mrs. Simcox."

"Aren't you only like nineteen or something?"

"Sure, but the office ladies don't know any better. Sit down," she ordered. It surprised him. He wasn't used to Maggie talking to him with such authority. Still, he sat, and right away.

"Listen to me," she said, her blonde hair in a bun, and pointing a pencil at him in her pudgy hand. "You, sir, have got to have a plan. What is it?"

"Huh?"

"You know what I'm talking about," she said. "It's been a month and a half. Stella's face is plastered everywhere by now, minus milk cartons. You have to have some sort of plan, so spill it."

He blankly looked at her. "You're kinda freaking me out right now, Mags. I ain't gonna lie."

She paced back and forth a couple times, before slamming her hands on his desk and looking him dead in the eyes. "Aren't you worried about her? Aren't you gonna do something?"

"Yes!"

"Then what's the hold up?"

"If you haven't thought of it by now, then I'll spell it out for you. I've been a suspect to her kidnapping; or worse, her murder. Her mother has her cross-hairs aimed right at my head twenty-four seven. I was the last person seen with Stella at the concert. Many witnesses came forward to testify of that fact. I can't just up and leave. Not yet, anyway."

That just heated up Maggie more. "Sometimes the knight has got to get off his britches and ride off to the castle to slay the dragon. Sometimes, you just gotta do what you gotta do."

"Right, and if I happen to get caught by one of the authorities, zooming past the Oregon state boundary, then my britches are thrown in jail! There's no way I can help Stella if I'm behind bars, is there?"

His interrogator finally deflated like a sad balloon into a seat beside him, pasting her forehead right to its desk. "Oh glory. Why didn't you just shred Billy when you had the chance?"

"I couldn't."

"What do you mean 'you couldn't'?" She lifted her head and turned to him. "You're a werewolf, Damien."

"First of all, how would you know anything about me? I went to the PAA fieldtrip, but we hardly talked."

Maggie pulled her shirt down to show the scar on her chest. "You think this thing is from having a pacemaker implanted? I was bloody covering up for seeing Gordon's paranormal scanner beeping in your hands."

The shirt snapped back up and Damien sighed in relief. Maggie's cleavage was not on his list of things to see. And that would be twice he got a good view. "It's not what you think."

"What do you mean? You either are a werewolf who can shred Billy to bits or you aren't. And if you're not, then what's Plan B?"

"I'm not a werewolf. I don't know what I can do... if I can do anything, even."

"Do you want to do something?"

"Yes, I said I do." Man, did he ever.

"That's all that matters."

THIRTY-NINE

So it wasn't out to a store, but it was a step in that direction. Marsha had packed a picnic basket filled with food, a red and white checkered tablecloth hanging out the side of it and all. They were headed together as a happy little zombie family to a park.

Stella helped lay a blanket out on the bushy green grass beside a lake, then sat on it as Marsha dispersed the plates and food. Billy took his spot next to her and wrapped an arm around her back. She cringed, feeling her muscles tighten, but didn't say anything.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Marsha used Ted's shoulder to help steady herself back up, and trotted off to the station wagon. She returned with sweaters in hand, tossing one to each of them.

Stella was already wearing a pastel jumpsuit with a white turtleneck underneath, still looking like one of Marsha's dolls. She politely refused the sweater. She wasn't that cold anyway. Billy, on the other hand, put on his preppy cardigan in thankfulness.

"Stella," Billy said quietly, "I have something to show you. Come with me on a walk." He stood and extended his hand to help her up. She pretended to not have noticed the gesture, and got up on her own.

They walked along the lake's shore, and Stella kept her eyes mostly to the ground, or watching geese float to the water's edge.

"I'm so happy we are finally back together again," Billy said, putting his hands in his pockets. "It feels like I've been waiting for forever. I thought it only proper to back things up a bit and do things the right way. Come with me to that willow, where we can have some privacy."

She glanced up to his nervous expression, and nodded.

Beneath the willow tree, far from his parents, Billy knelt on one knee and opened a black velvet box, showing her a simple diamond ring. "Stella Lynn Dabrowsky, you are the prettiest thing to have ever walked the face of the earth."

Air. Stella suddenly forgot how to breathe. But she right away realized it didn't matter in her current condition if she breathed or not. This was not good. This was not part of the plan of going with the flow until she could run away. A girl should only be proposed to once, ideally—and by the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

"Will you marry me, love?" He looked up to her with what she could tell was a forced and hope-filled smile.

Stella pressed a hand to her cold forehead. "Billy. You kidnapped me. You turned me into a zombie against my will. You-you think I could be happy about this? What do you think I will say?"

His expression fell slightly just before a smile sprung back up—a smile that under sane circumstances would actually be very charming. "I was hoping you would come to your senses. I'm offering you a wonderful gift: A loving family, a longer life... me. And here is your beautiful engagement ring; I hope it fits your delicate finger."

She couldn't help but snort at his last comment. "My hands are witchy. See?" She clawed at the air like the night Maggie and Kit made fun of her fingers; coincidentally, the night his grandmother's insides were splattered all over the floor like Jell-o.

Billy took one of her hands and pressed it to his icy lips. "They're beautiful."

Stella slumped to the ground beside him with a big sigh. "Billy, do you remember you nearly killed my friend, leaving his limp and bruised body outside my front door?"

He sat down with her, and with a serious expression said, "I didn't nearly kill him. I just bumped him around a bit. Kind of like how a cat plays with a mouse. I knew he'd be fine."

"You can't really be serious."

"Why not?"

"First of all, he was hurt really bad."

"Not that bad."

"And, that was a threat. You were threatening me, threatening my friends."

"I had to do it, for your own good."

Stella uprooted a handful of grass in frustration, and made sure her words wouldn't be yelled at the top of her lungs. "Billy. Don't talk to me like that. I'm not a child; and even if I were, your words come across as totally loony tunes. Do you ever listen to yourself?"

"You loved me once, Stella. You can love me again."

"That's not for you to decide for me. All you have done over the last year is freak me out more and more. I did love you at one time. Or so I thought. But I know that I won't love you now, and I won't love you in the future."

Billy's chest raised with a deep breath and his gray eyes fixed in front of him on nothing in particular. "I can live with that."

"What?"

"I can live with you never loving me... as long as I can have you." He turned his intense gaze back to her, and his voice shook as he said, "The wedding will happen as planned." He took her hand and forced the ring on her finger. "You will be my bride. That is final."

FORTY

"This is a picture of your mother, from before you were even born."

Damien took it in the palm of his hand and stared hard at the photo of a woman with teased brown hair and a leather jacket, coolly glancing over her shoulder. There was something not quite right. "This is her?"

"Yep—the fur, the fangs and all."

"She never told me."

"She was worried. It was our secret."

What news. So that's how he became a werewolf. Damien couldn't take his eyes off the picture, and fell back against his pillow in bed, half in shock. "I lived with her for seventeen years, and didn't know about this? How?"

"She kept it from me for a long time, too. It was easy enough; she could transform back and forth on a whim."

Damien raised his brows to that, and looked over the photo to his father sitting beside him on his bed, seeming nervous, his hands unnaturally folded together on his lap. "She could go back and forth... on a whim?"

"Oh, yes. She could do it all the time. One moment we'd just be relaxing and watching a movie, as teenagers do, sharing a bowl of popcorn in my dad's basement. The next moment, she'd transform and scare the living daylights out of me. She loved to see my startled expression. It made her laugh and laugh. She got me every time, too."

"Hm. You fell in love with her... even with—"

"With her being a werewolf? Oh, yeah. There was so much to love about her, you know?"

A smile crossed Damien's face. He knew. "Man, I miss her." He sighed. "...So, now I have lots of questions."

"I knew you would." A hand patted Damien's knee. "That's why I'm going to have you talk to someone else."

*

It was dark out. The tour bus's door opened and a neon pink fog rolled across the steps. Damien entered, and the drummer saluted him from the driver's seat, dressed completely like he was ready for a concert, but without all the makeup. "Welcome aboard."

It was so surreal. So strange. Damien looked over his shoulder, and saw his father still standing outside, in front of Uncle Leo's. "You coming?"

"Nah, you take your time. I'll be here."

Damien was met right away by Rock, in the middle of the aisle with a hearty handshake. "Hello!" The rocker smiled. "It's good to see you again."

It is? he wanted to say in return, but bit his tongue. Everything would be answered shortly. He was certain. In fact, he knew no questions needed to be asked. This band, this rock band, The Deathheads, were actually prepared for, and expecting, this moment.

The bus's ceiling had little lights like stars glittering all the way back until the small sleeping compartments took over the tail-end of the traveling home. A huge poster, boasting their newest release in their line of "Follicle Fortress" hair products, was taped to a window: "Strand Your Ground!" it said above the trio rockin' their wild manes. Damien caught a whiff of pepperoni pizza, and turned his sights to an empty box sitting on a table, being the evidence of the band's dinner.

"Hey, that was from Dough-licious," Damien said. "My Uncle Leo owns that place."

"Yeah, I know." Rock smiled, like that was quite some news already shared. "You hungry?"

"I'm okay. I already ate."

"Good, because there's nothing left. And this bus doesn't do well through drive-thrus. Come have a seat." Rock moved the pizza box onto a microwave, and they sat down. "We'll play cards for a while, first; if you don't mind. Joe will take us for a little drive." How a deck of cards could fit somewhere in skin tight leather pants was beyond Damien's knowledge, but he was game.

"You ever play Poker?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"Alright then. C-Lo, come have a seat! We need another man."

The guitarist sat backwards in a chair, in the aisle, between them. Rock didn't waste any time getting right to the meat of their conversation. "Your ma was a gem, Damien."

"Yeah?" His heart thudded at the comment, and he wondered what all they knew.

"We grew up in the same neighborhood. She hung out with myself and my best friends here—C-Lo and Joe. Then there was also our bud, Richard, your pa. You ever seen That '70s Show? Because it was kinda like that. A group of us guys hung out with your ma, and we all wanted to date her, but her heart was stuck on your pa. Kinda like that dork guy with the redhead, but your pa was no dork, no, sir." Rock shuffled the face cards with a glint in his dark green eyes at the memories. "Yeah, we were all real close, hangin' out after school in each other's basements, going out for burgers nearly every weekend. Roller-skating at The Roller Dome. Fun stuff. Fun days."

It was all definitely news to Damien. And he soaked every word up, knowing there was much more to be told.

"Then one day we had this brilliant idea that we'd start a band. Practice usually took place out of C-Lo's garage. I was the only one with a voice, so I took to the mike. C-Lo here had already been playing guitar, ever since he was like seven, or some ridiculous age like that. And Joe taught himself the drums on an old set we pitched our cash in for down at the pawn shop."

"And Pa?"

"Your pa wasn't as into the idea as the rest of us were, so he was more like our first fan, coming to our practices, watching from a lumpy old couch and holding hands with your ma Deb."

"He didn't want to be in the band?"

"Nah, but that's what usually happens when you go steady with a girl. Look what happened with the Beatles after Yoko. A girlfriend becomes more important than anything else. Your pa was a real wild child, though. He woulda fit right in with the group, if he ever wanted to try the keyboard or bass or something. But, no, besides Deb, he had his skateboarding and his dirt biking and whatever else came with wheels, to jump off some ridiculous height or careen down some crazy-steep slope. Deb was also a bit of a daredevil, so that made them even more of peas in a pod, you know what I'm sayin'?"

Damien crossed his arms and leaned back with a smile.

"Yeah, she was always on the back of your pa's motorcycle, and she loved sneaking into any bar with a mechanical bull, to give the crowd a real show."

"Really?" Damien chuckled, impressed.

"Oh yeah. She was a feisty one."

"She wouldn't even let me talk about owning a motorcycle," he mused. He knew his ma was a tough cookie, but that was usually in response to things like seeing him break a bone. She had swiftly cradled him and took him to the emergency room as a little boy who had fallen off the couch. And there were the times her boss threatened to fire her over chewing out rude customers who came to the diner. She never did get fired, and the truth was, everyone who worked there, including her boss, knew the customers always deserved it.

"When she found out she was pregnant with you, she slowed down. Everything changed. She didn't want your pa to do any more stupid tricks either. Life centered around the life growing inside her."

C-Lo nodded a smile in agreement. A very soft and kind smile, which made the words even more real and meaningful. A tear surprised Damien's eyes, and he wiped it.

"It was around that time, also, that we found out she was a werewolf. She claimed her mother was one too. Interesting thing was, I soon found out I was a werewolf; so was C-Lo and so was Joe. But your father wasn't. We thought it was the strangest odds that all of us, from the same city, from the same high school, happened to have the same thing going on. Deb had this theory that we were connected and drawn to each other for a reason, like how dogs form packs. She said we must have subconsciously formed our pack, and that's how we could all be such close friends."

"But Pa—"

"That's right—your pa wasn't like us. He wasn't a werewolf. We kept expecting him to turn one day, and let him in on our secret, knowing he would take it with him to his grave. He sure loved your ma, but with time, and even though you were growing big in her tummy, you could tell he felt left out from the bond we all had. We could see it in his eyes, though he denied being upset over it."

"So, he wanted to be a werewolf?" Damien was surprised at the notion.

"Kids like fitting in with their friends. I'm sure you know the feeling, being a teenager yourself."

The thought of Tyler and the rest of his surfer friends, as well as the football players, flashed through his mind. Then there was Coach, and all the hot girls who knew they were hot, who pursued him. There were some true friends probably out of them all, but, yeah... peer pressure. A lot of peer pressure. "I don't care about fitting in anymore," Damien said abruptly.

"That's good."

The bus's brakes made a dull screech as the bus stopped, before rumbling forward again.

"Our band started getting local notoriety. We were actually in the newspaper a couple times and the rock station invited us in for an interview, and even played our demo. The band, and Deb and Rich, we could all feel it."

"What?"

"Success coming our way. A Bigshot from LA heard our demo. Just the thing we needed, and we signed contracts not much later. It broke Deb's heart, but she played like she was proud of us. By that time, you were born anyway. She was eighteen. We all were eighteen, just like you are now.

"Things worked out so that Rich had a place in our band, but as my stunt double. I could never do the tricks he pulled.

"You ever want to be a super hero?" Rock asked while shuffling.

"I never really thought about that, to be honest. It's not something people normally ask themselves, right?"

"As children we automatically think of ourselves as super heroes. It's not even a question. As we get older, something changes in our thinking. Suddenly things become impossible. The only heroes, then, a boy thinks about, are the logical types, like fire fighters or police officers. No longer is it men in spandex and capes. You follow me?" He finished dealing.

"I think so." A jack, queen, and king all in spades, didn't distract.

"Superheroes of another kind exist today. And you know, because you are one."

Though Damien knew they knew his secret, it was still hard to say it out loud to someone other than himself. "You mean how I was a werewolf? But I'm not anymore."

The guys looked at each other with knowing smiles, then back at Damien. "You're still a werewolf."

"Why do you say that? I haven't had any symptoms in days. I don't transform anymore."

"You're not dead," Rock said. "That's how we know."

"So—what? You are saying it can never go away?"

They nodded.

"Then what's up with me not transforming?"

"You can transform. You just don't have the know-how."

"But it happened all the time before. I didn't have to even think about it, and suddenly my body would change before my eyes."

"Tell him, C-Lo." Rock set down his cards, and nudged his friend.

"Alright." The guitarist leaned over the table, to be closer to Damien and cocked a dark eyebrow. "It's like when you hit puberty and your voice cracks. Once you mature into things, you have control over your voice. You see?"

No he didn't see, and shook his head.

"Look, man," C-Lo became even more intense, "you matured. You grew into your changes you went through during puberty. Same with being a werewolf. You went through the growing pains, and now... well, you're all grown up."

With all the talk about superheroes and being mature, it didn't make Damien feel any better. At that moment, he felt worse. He thought he had rid himself of the beast somehow, through some freak incident up in the woods near the beach that one night. He had put that part of himself in the past, where he thought it should be. A long sigh, and slumping back in his chair, gave away his thoughts, because Rock suddenly stood up and turned around, hiking up the bottom of his leather vest. It was their symbol, The Deathheads' symbol.

That got Damien's attention. He jerked up in his seat, then stood. "What is that?" He pointed.

Rock turned back around. "You know—you have it on your back too."

"Why do I have it?"

"You're part of our pack."

"I am? How did I get the tattoo? I figured I walked into a parlor and blacked out."

Rock sat back down. "Alright, I know this is a new concept, but they're not tattoos. Not in the sense that you think of them, being made by needles filled with ink."

"What is it then?"

"It's an imprint."

Damien cocked an eyebrow.

"It one day naturally appears from your DNA. A change in the skin's pigmentation. You don't remember redness or scabbing at all?"

"No." He shook his head.

"Of course not. The imprint—it's sort of a confirmation of who you belong to. Sounds corny, but we belong to each other. We all have one, and, just for kicks, decided it should be our band's symbol."

"An imprint...," Damien trailed off.

"Yes, we are imprinted upon each other. Not in the sense that Hollywood thinks, but imprinted nonetheless."

"Wait a second." Damien recalled the time by the bed and breakfast, when the band suddenly appeared in his dreams. Before they disappeared, they had howled and morphed into werewolves themselves. "Was that a dream, or were you...?"

"I was at a radio station interview, but the rest were there. Your pa was there. And I have to say, it made us all proud how you were listening to our marathon. We had you on our radar for a while, and knew one day—"

"Your radar?"

C-lo laughed, and interrupted, "Not like Star Trek radars. He's just talking about our intuitions. Sometimes we can hear or see each other's thoughts."

"Yeah, I was just using a figure of speech." Rock smiled. "C-lo's right—I mean our intuitions. Words and images can come spontaneously at first, at random, out of your control. But in time, you'll learn how to tap into each other's thoughts, and even pass words and images to each other."

"So I wasn't crazy, that one night at the inn. I heard someone and saw something."

"No, not crazy," Rock said, and the two guys, members of his pack, smiled with wolfish gleams in their eyes.

FORTY-ONE

The clock radio showed it was 6:32 a.m., and the sun was already sifting through lace curtains. But the air was cold, like how it feels to stand too long in front of an open ice cream freezer at the supermarket. Only, Stella wasn't at a store, and there was no freezer around, no ice cream—dang it! She glanced around her room, the same one she and Kit had once shared, with the old dresser and closet that smelled like moth balls.

If only she woke up back at the time of the PAA fieldtrip, before everything went downhill. Her thoughts drifted to Damien, as they often did, and she gripped her quilt and pulled it higher up on her neck, hoping to be satisfied by some sense of warmth. If she had it all to do over again, she would have kissed him in the kitchen when she had the chance. Forget that Maggie walked in on them—she would have taken his face in her hands and passionately pressed her mouth to his, then used the memory of his hot lips against hers to warm her spirits over and over again, even if for fleeting moments.

A truly depressing thought followed. Damien wouldn't want her anymore. She was fooling herself by holding onto a ray of hope that someday he would come for her. It had been nearly two months now. It didn't matter how much they connected at the concert, how much he praised her and made promises to her. If he wanted her, he would have come by now. No one wants to be with a zombie. Nobody.

Well, except for another zombie.

And that's when Billy came to mind.... But not in the usual sense of running away from him, kicking him where it hurts, and all that. For once she played with the idea of succumbing to marrying him. Just accepting what was offered, saying "I do," and going on the planned Honeymoon to Mexico during the Day of the Dead celebrations. She stared at her little diamond engagement ring and imagined holding Billy's hand, walking down the streets of Puerto Vallarta, her in a traditional dress and flowers in her hair, him in a mariachi outfit and sombrero, the flesh of their faces missing, showing decrepit muscles, smiling teeth, and eyeballs held by loose spaghetti-like strands. They'd fit right in with others parading around in costumes.

A shudder took her out of the daydream, and she felt all over her face, making sure she was still intact. Quietly, she got out of bed, the old mattress springs squeaking, and went over to her window. The next minute she had it slid open, and she pushed its dusty screen until it popped loose and fell to the brush outside. She felt scared. What was she doing? What was she thinking?

She turned back around and basically flung her nightgown off and threw on the only clothes she liked—her original shorts and tank she wore at the Deathheads concert. Before she slipped through the window, she huffed and grabbed one of the ugly sweaters out of a drawer.

It was a bit warmer outside, but cold enough that she surrendered to wearing the sweater boasting cats playing with literal yarn balls crocheted and dangling across her chest. If she were her old self, she'd love the weather right now, because the sun was already brilliant in the sky, not even a cloud threatening to cast a shadow. It would feel pleasantly refreshing. As she crunched along the gravelly little parking lot in her flip flops, she was also surprised she didn't feel out of breath, that her heart wasn't thudding against her ribs, or anything like that. Undead. No heartbeat. That didn't mean fear didn't exist inside her.

She hurried along the bicycle lane of the two way road winding above the beach. Who would be bicycling all the way out here? Maybe she could hitch-hike out of there. Her steps quickened, and when she heard some crunching of footsteps in the distance behind her, she took off running. Her legs pumped fast in perfect rhythm of her arms slicing back and forth in desperation. A semi-truck blasted by, kicking stray sand off the cracked pavement and against her face, stinging her eyes. The steps quickened behind her. She could hear them. "Stella!" Billy called. She kept going, not looking back. There was a restaurant somewhere down the road—a half mile or mile away? She could make it. She wasn't tiring like she expected. "Stella!" The voice got closer. "Wait! Come back!"

There was no use in screaming back. Just keep going. That's all she could think. Just keep going. But Billy was too fast. Before she knew it, he was already grabbing for her, and she fell to the ground on her bare knees.

"You can't run off like that." His arm was around her back, holding her from taking off again.

She dared to look at her hurt knees, and mourned over the fact that some of her skin scraped off her kneecap, dull purple blood bubbling to the surface. It would never heal—she knew that much—and tugged at her long hair before slumping completely down against the concrete in despair. Billy was hushing her, saying how everything would be okay. It didn't take long to realize all the involuntary wailing wasn't accompanied by a single tear. She had often wondered why she didn't cry at all since being turned, and had figured, though depressed, that she was too dazed to be that emotional. She wiped at her dry, cold cheeks, wailing some more. "I can't even cry! I can't even cry...."

"Who needs crying, my love? It shows sadness—a sign of weakness."

Stella punched at his chest, and he recoiled. "I hate you so much! It's not a weakness! Crying feels good. It's a release. And now I can't release anything." She rubbed her nose out of her old habits alone.

"I'm sorry," he said for the first time, and rubbed a hand affectionately across her back. "You'll find in time that it is better to let those things go."

Stella narrowed her eyes at him with as much contempt as was possible. "I don't want to let those things go. I want to be me again. I want to go home, feel warmth, have the ability to cry and heal, feel human again. You stole that from me. You stole my identity, and I will never forgive you."

Billy sat there, looking at her with a blank expression. Stella shoved his shoulders so that he nearly collapsed back to the concrete. She then yanked the diamond ring off her finger and tossed it across the road; it made ping sounds as it skipped away. A car could be heard coming from around the bend. The two made eye contact, before Billy's eyes darted back to the piece of jewelry glittering from the far lane. Stella could see he had the split-second thought of rescuing it before the car zoomed right by, tires smashing the gold into the ground.

FORTY-TWO

Stella should have followed through with the plan—to go along with the wedding arrangement as if happy. What she did—tell Billy she'd never forgive him, and throw away his engagement ring she thought of more as a handcuff—stopped any possibility of her being taken out in public, to any store, to run away. Watchful eyes stayed on her since then.

Now she was standing, dressed in all white, in front of her wretchedly cheerful soon-to-be zombie-in-law. They were on the beach across from the old home, in a private event tent.

"That was quite a fit you threw, dear." Marsha puffed Stella's veil out more around her somber face. "But I forgive you. I blame your adolescence. I was a flighty girl once, so I can empathize. I didn't know that marriage would be such a blessing. And you don't either. Thank goodness I'm here to guide and direct you to do what is right."

Since the cat was already out of the bag, Stella did not feel like acting in any way to please anybody anymore. So, instead, she rolled her eyes to those words.

"Now, now." Marsha wagged a long fingernail. "You'll thank me someday, and we will be the best of friends."

"No I won't," Stella muttered.

Marsha's thinly drawn eyebrows furrowed, as if in pity. "You love him, don't you?"

"I don't love your son."

"I mean the other young man—from Oregon, who you went to that concert with."

If Stella's heart could beat, it would be rapping wildly at the thought.

"Yes, I can see it in your expression now. You love him." Marsha flitted around, touching at her gigantic lime green sun hat, like a hen whose feathers had been ruffled, but quickly composed herself. "Oh, you poor thing. Don't you know he doesn't love you? He will never love you."

"What do you know?" Stella said coldly.

"I know that it has been two months and there's been no sign of him. I know that you are pretty, but a zombie girl nevertheless, so he wouldn't want a thing to do with you. And I know that he was too afraid to fight us at the beach."

"There was nothing he could do. You monsters would have killed him or his father."

Marsha fluffed out some of Stella's curled strands, as if not bothered by the comment one bit. "It's time to move on. He's nothing but a coward who doesn't love you."

SLAP! Stella didn't even give it a thought. Her hand unexpectedly and automatically smacked the woman, hard and fast, but man it felt good.

Once Marsha was finished gaping in surprise, she grabbed hold of Stella's small wrists and squeezed them in authority. "Listen, you insufferable little brat. That's the last time you disrespect me." Her breath was more rotten than Billy's, and even while being a zombie herself, Stella had to pull her neck back to try and avoid the stink. "Right outside this tent is a party of more than a hundred guests—all zombies. We may be a well-behaved, classy bunch, but I won't say it's beyond our kind to turn against one of our own. Do you understand?"

*

Damien checked the cuffs to his dress-shirt, feeling his nerves bouncing all around. He looked back up to a reflection he hardly recognized. Last time he dressed up this much was when he was ten years old as a ring bearer for his Uncle Rocco's wedding. And, actually, even then it wasn't to this level. The cuff links were real gold, through and through.

And the barber shop experience was different. Oh, he had been to them before; the local barbershop in Jersey, around the corner from his favorite donut shop, had been around for thirty years, and was more than a place to get hair done: guys went to hang out with the owner and with each other, watching sports from the two flat screens posted up against the chipped, red-brick walls. But it had been a while, now, since he had a professional cut, and his thick hair had been in desperate need. The barber had stared down at the mound of cut hair that accumulated on his linoleum with a confused sigh. Damien now rubbed a hand through the perfect black strands that fell to the side of his forehead effortlessly, and nodded a private approval.

A knock on the bus's bathroom door vibrated the long mirror which hung over it. Though he thought he looked nice enough, he was worried. He wanted to look perfect; be perfect for her.

*

For once Stella was left alone. Not that it mattered much, since she was still a prisoner doomed to say "I do" to Billy in a matter of minutes. Anyway, it's not like she could sneak through the back of the event tent somehow, run off in the wedding gown and hitchhike away... could she?

Stella stood up from the vanity's stool that sat lopsided in the sand, automatically pushed down some of the puffiness of her dress's skirt, and examined the white linen walls containing her. She could actually hike up the fabric, and probably slither on out of there. She leaned over and pulled the wall up, accidentally tearing its seam. The audible rip made her cringe. Could everyone see her shadow? Would they know what she was doing?

Moments later she was on her belly engulfed in taffeta spraying out all around her, as she tried shimmying the dress, and half her body, through to outside. Luckily no one could see her escapade from back there, since the undead were already seated in the fold-up chairs, facing the portable podium and archway of periwinkle roses. She had thought too soon...

Zombie-in-law appeared a little ways away, but thankfully her attention was taken to another direction. Then Ted appeared beside her with a big, dopey smile beneath his ridiculously curled mustache. Like a soldier in enemy camps, Stella tried to camouflage herself with the sand; albeit, the veil wasn't the best at doing the trick, she was thankful for something.

Through the white haze of the veil, Stella watched in absolute shock and horror at what happened next. A near-perfect Mini-Me of Marsha—blonde, stout, and now wearing a lime green dress suit and sunhat to boot—approached, and hugged the pair in excitement. Maggie?!

"You're here." Marsha's angry voice drifted loud enough for Stella to hear. "Why are you so late? The wedding is starting any minute now."

"Mother, I called you on the way here. I came as fast as I could."

Holy flippin' cow! Stella fisted mounds of sand with a near-impossible-to-hold-back urge to scream out in anger. Had everything been a set up, back to more than six months ago? Yes! Maggie was a plant! She remembered back to the time of sitting next to the chatty stranger at a bus stop. Naturally, thinking back on it all, Maggie initiated things, commenting on Stella's zombie t-shirt. "That's so cool," she had said. "We should start a paranormal club," she had said. "It will be fun," she had said.

A couple months later, with the PAA consisting of just the three girls, Maggie already brought up the idea of a fieldtrip to Kit and Stella. "I know of a most spooky destination," she had said. "Down in California, by a beach," she had said. "It will be fun!" SHE HAD SAID! Billy's freaking sister!

*

"It's show time!" Rock announced. They met up in the bus's aisle, similarly dressed up for the occasion.

"I can smell them from here," the guitarist, Joe, said in repulsion.

Damien still felt uneasy, and his father patted him on the back. "Everything will be okay," he said.

"Wedding crashers, follow me," C-lo called, wearing a top hat, matching his navy coat-tails that bounced behind him as he went.

"Remember the plan," Rock said. "Stick to the plan."

*

By the time Maggie entered the event tent, Stella had already pulled herself back inside, and stood up with the crazy desire to choke the traitor. "You." Stella seethed, clenching her hands to the sides of her now rumpled up and sandy dress.

"Stella, I can explain," Maggie said quietly, staying in a frozen position, seemingly afraid.

"You can't explain anything to me. Everything about you has been a lie."

There was no time for Maggie to explain anyway, since her larger twin entered right then. "Surprise," Marsha cooed, "your dear friend—my daughter—is here! And she's going to be your bridesmaid, standing right next to me. You have no idea how hard it was to keep it a secret that you two would be sisters!" She squealed and clapped.

Instead of saying anything, Stella narrowed her eyes at them.

"Oh-no," Marsha said, turning to her daughter. "What did you do to upset her? This is her big day, you know, and you can't seem to do anything right. It's pitiful, really!"

"What did you expect, Mother? That she would be happy to find out I lied to her? And under your directions? This whole wedding is a mistake."

Marsha convulsed like a volcano that was about to erupt. "The only mistake, dearie, was me giving birth to you. You are so lucky I am letting you be a bridesmaid with an attitude like that. You don't want me to—"

Maggie's eyes seemed repentant right away, and she interrupted, "No, ma'am. No. I'm sorry."

"Well..., good." The woman came right over to Stella, as if forgetting their own fight moments ago. "I apologize for my daughter's tardiness. Sometimes we say awful things to each other, but," she glanced back to Maggie who was sulking, "we love each other. Don't we, Maggie?"

As if robotically, Maggie nodded.

"That settles things, then." Marsha lifted her padded shoulders nearly to her ears, causing her double chin to add a third roll. With an obviously fake smile, she sing-songed, "Stella, I will signal to the piano man that we are almost ready, and go snag Ted. My Billy is going to think you are the prettiest bride ever."

The tent's fabric opened again, this time at Billy's entrance.

"Billy!" his mother chastised. "You are not supposed to see the bride before she walks down the aisle."

"I know, Mother. But I just had to see her. Give us a moment of privacy, will you, before we say, 'I do.'"

"Oh, alright," she conceded, with a sudden worshipful expression. "Just signal me when you are ready for the proceedings. I'm here for you." She switched her tone to anger when speaking to Maggie: "And, you, follow me. I'm not letting you out of my sight again."

Stella rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands, when left alone with her groom she was doomed to be bound to. "What is it, Billy? What do you want?"

He gently took her relenting hands in his, and looked earnestly into her eyes. She hated the fact that his gray eyes could still have an effect on her when they sparkled and deepened, so she centered her attention to the thick stitches that lined his cheekbone like a symbol of his inner ugliness. "In just a few minutes," he said, "you will be Mrs. Billy Butte—B-U-T-T-E. Little girl, I am so very excited to have you live with me and my mother and father for forever in our home we've made, passed down to us by my late grandmother."

Stella silently exhaled through her mouth, and looked down to her messed up dress, his hands still holding hers. He continued. "Marriage is a grand event. An event that the entire community of those like us, our guests here this eve, hold as a sacred bond that could never be broken. It is like a marriage into our little society, our district of one-hundred and twenty-three. You will be the one-hundred and twenty-fourth. If one of us strays, my love, then there are deadly consequences. Do you see? We can't risk one of our own traveling alone, in the living's society. It is a danger to our kind. People will hunt us like they used to hundreds of years ago. Now that we are mostly believed to be fiction, we need to do all we can to keep the skepticism and disbelief thriving. If you do not say 'I do,' a mob will form right here tonight to take your life."

"They'll kill me...," she paraphrased.

"Yes, sweet child."

She looked back up to him. "What's Maggie's story?"

"My sister?"

"Yes, Billy. The girl you had stalk me in ways you couldn't. What is her story?"

He shifted his eyes as if thinking, calculating what to say next. "Maggie is interesting. She's one of us, but shows little interest in our culture. Mother found she had downloaded a werewolf romance to her e-reader, which is terribly bizarre."

Under normal conditions, Stella would have spurted a laugh at their similarities. Becoming a zombie didn't just—poof—remove her desires. "So that part of her wasn't an act then."

"I wish it was. Werewolves are our sworn enemies. She's crazy to have such foolish fantasies. Mother and Father are so disappointed in her. Other than resembling Mother, she doesn't really fit in."

"I don't fit in." Stella hoped to make a lasting point.

"You've proven to be very stubborn, but I won't give up."

She wasn't even going to argue about that anymore with him. No use. "Just a moment ago your mom was threatening Maggie. I don't know what the threat was, but Maggie looked really afraid."

"Oh, Mother has been threatening to destroy Maggie for a century. For whatever reason, Maggie still thinks she may follow through with it." He shrugged. "And she might."

Stella shook her head. "That's... terrible."

He shrugged again. "Anyway, the sun is starting to set. Are you ready, my love?"

"Do I really have a choice?"

"No."

"Alrighty then."

"That's my girl."

FORTY-THREE

The stench was pretty gross. Thankfully, Rock thought to put a kind of potpourri in their suits' pockets to drown out the putrid scent of the surrounding crowd as much as possible. To make sure the wedding crashers didn't stand out too much, they sat separately, wherever a lone chair was available. Damien couldn't help but feel self-conscious, especially when a couple zombie girls beside him kept passing him suspicious glances.

One had brightly glossed red lips, which might have been pretty if she didn't have missing and rotted teeth. She asked, after whispering something more to her friend, "Are you a friend of the bride?"

He didn't expect to be asked anything. "Yes," he said a little too hesitantly.

"That's what I thought. I haven't met you before. My name is Mary and this is my friend Carrie. Our names rhyme, but we aren't sisters." She giggle-snorted.

"Hello," he said to them both.

"I must confess," Mary seemed to suddenly feel carefree, "I hate your friend Stella."

"Hate?" Though he thought he'd just politely pretend to be interested in what she had to say, he really couldn't help to hear why she had chosen such a harsh word to describe her feelings for Stella.

"Yes, Billy has been an eligible bachelor for quite some time. But I can't help but feel he should have asked one of the single ladies of our district for their hand in marriage. And, yes, I wished it was me he asked. He's quite handsome, and what a charmer. Yes, to be totally honest, I really do hate her without ever having met her."

Her friend Carrie leaned over. "But you are quite handsome yourself." She winked, her eyelid sticking shut. "Excuse me for a second." She popped it back open, slime stretching across from her lower lid to her top lashes.

Repulsed, Damien couldn't think of anything else to do but hand Carrie his handkerchief. She accepted it gladly, smearing the goo across the maroon cloth. When she went to hand it back to him, he politely declined. Noticing the gesture caused a bit of the dried flowers to sprinkle across his jacket, he quickly wiped it all away. Their stench was now stronger than ever, and he averted his attention, and his nose, toward other things. ...Not that it helped much.

Seeing all the different zombies in various stages of their decay was new to him. Some looked as young and fresh as he did. Others were like Mary and Carrie, having minor issues. Then there were a couple who looked like barely more than dusty bones excavated straight out of a grave. Damien couldn't help but visualize Stella's future. She was now one of them. What would deteriorate first? Her long and beautiful hair? The tip of her cute nose? Maybe her pretty skin? The chilling reality of it all finally hit him, and he secretly shuddered under his suit.

The man at the organ started a slow melody, and Maggie came out behind the stranger woman he saw at the inn months ago. Their lime green skirt suits and sunhats seemed over-the-top, but somehow worked well with the pale colors of the setting sun. Damien shifted his eyes away from them, hoping to not be noticed. The two ended up in front of the arch of pale blue roses, on one side of a portable podium.

Damien kept his eyes away from the aisle, knowing Billy would be next. He could hear the gasps of appreciation from the ladies surrounding him, but ignored the urge to look up until he heard the footsteps stop. He leaned his forearms against his knees, to lower himself below the sea of guest's faces, then snuck a glance at the guy who stole Stella's life. Even in spite of the injury to Billy's cheek, caused by none other than Damien himself, the zombie looked like some sort of refined gentleman. It made Damien want to puke.

The traditional Wedding March started up, and Damien felt his heart pump hard against his chest. He looked back to the tent, and could hardly wait to see Stella, the girl he had been missing so much. Guilt over the fact that he couldn't rescue her sooner took one more opportunity to gnaw on the raw pit in his stomach. He may not have saved her from turning into a zombie; but at the very least, he'd stop the wedding and save her from a morbid future with her crazy ex and his family.

And, wow, Stella was gorgeous. At first it was hard to catch even a glimpse of her beside the big man walking her down the aisle with a dopey expression; but when he did, he had to catch his breath. Even with... sand across her skirt—and a lopsided veil?—she was stunning.

"Oh how I hate her so much," said Mary. He hardly heard the comment, as he was so focused on Stella. Even his hearing zeroed in on the soft footfalls of her jeweled sandals in the sand. Somehow he could also sniff out a memory of her hair's floral scent.

She was obviously nervous. He could see the lump in her throat she was trying to swallow away. A hand repeatedly smoothed a stray curl floating in her face. She was paler than usual, but then, under her current condition, that made complete sense. If blood doesn't pump through her cheeks anymore, or her lips... Her lips. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her now, and suddenly her temperature became a moot point.

She stepped to the beat of the slow march, and the closer she came to his aisle, the faster his heart beat. He worried he wouldn't be able to change on a whim, as Rock and the others taught him over the last couple weeks. What if he, yet again, watched helplessly as Stella's foul fate was sealed further? There was no glance in his direction as she passed, and he was thankful for that.

Continuing to slump lower than normal in his seat, Damien's eyes flickered back to Billy, who wore a slight smile of victory. Top-notch punk.

*

Stella kept her eyes focused on the podium—its dark wood, the finish's uneven sheen, and the one knot in the center, looking like a hollow eye staring back at her. She didn't care to see the guests, the preacher, anyone. The decorations weren't hers, her puffy dress was so not her, she planned none of this; therefore, it wasn't her wedding, was it? Billy could kidnap her, turn her, and threaten her into submission, but that didn't mean he owned her. But it was obvious, in the Butte family, once married into them, they believed they would own her. The only thing stopping her stomach from turning at the moment was the fact that she wasn't really alive.

Undead isn't really a proper term, she thought, while only hearing dull echoes of the preacher's talk on supposed love. No, this, if anything was a death. And being in front of her zombie ex, dressed in white, on the verge of exchanging vows, was Hell. She was in Hell, doomed to that miserable state until Billy and the others would slowly deteriorate away, until finally their insides would turn to Jell-o and they'd collapse, or get drop-kicked by a science nerd with a black belt in Karate. Her mind couldn't help but wonder what it would look like to have each of them drop-kicked. Maybe she could talk them into letting her have a sports hobby. By the time they'd be withering away, so would she, Stella realized.

"Billy, do you take this woman..."

Stella kept her eyes away from Mister Buttehead, though his icy hand took hers. "I do," he said.

"And do you, Stella," blahbady blah blah, she finished his speech in her mind.

"Stella?" Billy's voice intruded her thought bubble she was floating away in. Finally her eyes snapped up to his. He looked at her earnestly, raising his brows, to nudge her along. She gave a deadpan stare in return, as if not hearing him.

"Stella?" He squeezed her hands tighter. Pain was still something she could feel, even as a zombie. Ever so quietly, and through clenched teeth and unmoving lips, he said, "Say I do, darling."

How could she? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad letting the entire congregation just shred her to bits and throw her in a fire. Her imagination was on overdrive, apparently, since she caught a smoky whiff, like from a bonfire. Or were they preparing to follow through with their evil intentions, after all, if she didn't give in? She turned to look over her shoulder, to see if her nose was indeed playing tricks on her. ...And, it wasn't. The darkening sky had a definite white cloud of smoke rising up from beyond a cluster of large rocks.

Out of the corner of her eye, Stella caught a hard stare from Marsha. "Come on, missy." The woman's agitated voice went up an octave. Meanwhile, her daughter, the traitor, Maggie, was mouthing something to someone in the audience. For the first time, Stella looked out at the sea of guests. One in particular, who was mouthing something in return, looked oddly familiar.

Wait—was that Rock? She had only seen him once without makeup, after the concert. It was harder to tell, seeing him all dressed up, without a patch of leather anywhere. Yet, those were his eyes, and his hook nose. What was he doing there? Could it be, he's a zombie? After all the time, money and emotion she invested in their band? Was he, too, what she now dreaded more than anything else?

"I don't!" Stella blurted out, way louder than she expected. The stillness across the beach was unnerving. The piano player slipped on a note, the ocean seemed to stop its very rippling, and not a word was said from anyone in attendance.

Then Marsha and Billy both started to put her in her place with their demeaning, demanding words. "You don't do this to us!" Zombie-in-law was saying, among other things. "Just do as you're told." Billy gripped her upper arm, chastising her, actually shaking her: "Just say 'I do.'"

Her eyes still looking out to the audience in defiance, she then noticed a guy stand up with concern in his eyes. "Damien!" she called out.

"What is he doing here?" Marsha shrieked. "Nobody invited him!"

Stella jerked her arms loose from Billy's grasp and ran toward Damien, feeling like everything was going in super slow motion. She must have had at least a dozen thoughts while rushing toward him: What am I doing? What is he doing here? Holy cow, he looks freaking hot in that suit! Does my breath smell bad? WHAT AM I DOING? I'm gonna get killed! Kiss me, you fool!

And as if also in slow-mo, Marsha's normally high-pitched tone bellowed out as low and slothful as Jabba the Hutt's: "Someoooone graaaaab heeeer...!"

A few zombified legs and arms jutted out into the aisle, reaching for her, or wishing to trip her. But seeing everything in slow-mo had added benefits when it came to moments like these. Stella hiked her dress's skirt up with one hand and perfectly, gracefully, athletically, as if the ballet and football gods joined forces for her victory, flew over, ducked under and slid around the obstacles, until she landed right into Damien's arms like a perfectly passed pig skin... only prettier.

Seizing the moment for all it was worth, before getting shred to bits and thrown into the awaiting inferno beyond the rocks, Stella reached around Hotstuff's neck and pressed her lips to his. Oh it was warm. So, so warm, and so inviting, and so passionate. Damien seemed just as thirsty for her as she was for him, mashing his mouth to hers, moving from her top lip, to her bottom, to her top again, taking her all in, tingling her nerves to life more than anything could.

By the time they separated for air, about a dozen hands clenched them. And the moaning. The horrid moaning of over a hundred zombies rioting, re-chilled her bones.

"RUNNN!" Maggie's voice rose above all the clamoring. And run he did. One zombie in particular kept a firm grip on his suit jacket, his body thumping along the sand as they went.

Soon Damien was down the shore more than twenty yards, Stella still in his arms, feeling every swift bump, the sea breeze cheering them on, when she hugged him tighter and saw a clenched and gray hand still gripping his coat. "Ew!" she yelped, and whacked the cold, hard thing off him, and it soared and spun through the air until it landed in the ocean, swallowed up and taken away.

Damien slowed to a stop, the wedding in the far distance, and surprisingly no one chasing after them. That didn't mean the chaos had come to a standstill. Stella could see something like a trio of Tasmanian devils—brown, hairy creatures—blasting through it all, even knocking down the archway and tent.

Damien set Stella gently onto the sand, not even out of breath, his black hair with only a few strands sexily out of place. He cupped her chin in his hands and tilted her to his mouth again, for another long, sweet, hot kiss. His touch lit her insides on fire, literally feeling like he melted one by one, her popsicle arms, legs, neck, mouth, and finally heart. "I... love... you," he said between kissing her lips.

"I... love... you," she responded, while kissing some more.

"Everything will be okay now." He rubbed his hands through her hair while pressing his lips to her forehead. "Now, I need to go back and help the guys."

"But—"

"Just stay here. I'll be back soon, okay? Stay here," he said emphatically, petting her hair some more.

"Um..., okay. Alright. You'll be okay, right? Right?"

"I'll be okay." His brown eyes glimmered and he gave a sweet smile of reassurance.

They separated, with their hands slipping gently out of each other's grasp. As Damien ran back toward the crazy scene, Stella watched him amazingly transform from right before her eyes into a bulging, muscle-y, beast of a thing, his dark brown fur rippling over his neck and tufting out through the seams of his suit.

FORTY-FOUR

Damien felt so alive. So amazing. He was ready to kick some butt.

Chairs were tipped and strewn all around, the podium knocked like twenty feet away from the scene, the archway of periwinkle roses, looking like it went through a mulcher. By the looks of things, he expected the zombies to be finished off. But there were still tons of them. And most were stronger than those who grabbed at him and Stella just a moment ago, wrestling with the guys from his pack.

Mary and Carrie rode C-Lo's back, their skirts hiked up on their greenish thighs, shrieking as they squeezed his neck. Damien crossed his hairy arms across his chest and approached them. "Mary, Carrie, this is so un-lady-like," he teased, knowing C-Lo was more bothered than hurt.

Carrie's eyelid was glued to her cheek again, goo oozing out from it more than before. "You deceived us!" she seethed.

"Think of it this way—I've got Stella now, so that means Billy is an eligible bachelor again."

Mary spoke through her jack-o-lantern teeth. "You dog!"

Damien grabbed Mary's wrists, wrenching her off C-Lo, who rushed off to help Rock. She fell on her rump against the sand, and Carrie collapsed with her. "I don't believe in hitting girls," he said, looking down at them.

"What—are you afraid?" they teased.

Damien waved at the stench of their breath wafting to his wet, black nose. "Tic Tacs, girls. Tic Tacs."

They stood up, their arms jutting straight out, ready to strangle him. "It would be my pleasure to kick their butts," a voice said beside him. It was Maggie. She took her earrings out and shoved her suit's sleeves up her thick arms, excited to get going.

"Oh, look! Fat Maggie thinks she can beat us up!" Carrie wailed a laugh.

"Fat Maggie!" Mary repeated. "You always were jealous of us. Come and get us, you cow! Moooo!"

"Moooo!"

There was nothing for Damien to do but stand there a moment in shock, waiting to see how this would play out; see if Maggie would need help.

Maggie made a low "rah!" sound and charged at them. The double-clothesline move to their necks was impressive, and Damien wondered if Maggie was a fan of WWE. It wasn't until she body-slammed them both, from off a buffet table, his hunch was confirmed. Mary and Carrie were flattened deep into the sand, motionless, a deluge of puss spurting out Carrie's eye. With satisfaction, Maggie wiped her hands and smiled smugly.

"That was amazing," Damien said, still a bit in shock.

"Yes, well, I've had practice." She wiped some messy, blonde hair out of her eyes. "I flattened my own dear grandmother a couple months ago... on purpose. The wicked ol' witch." She narrowed her eyes in disgust. "Watch out!" She pointed to behind him.

It was Billy. "Crashing my wedding was a big mistake," he said.

*

Stella huddled behind some rocks. The skirt of her gown was torn, so she ripped it to her knees, making it shorter, then pulled the taffeta under-skirt off. So much better. So much more comfortable. She peered back across the shore, spotting one of the werewolves spinning a zombie round and round in the air. No one was heading her way, thank goodness.

She thought too soon....

A hand spidered its way across the sand, out of the ocean. Stella stood up, readied herself, and then kicked it as hard as she could. It flew high in the sky and then the sea gobbled it up again. Moments later, though, the hand made a comeback, creeping out of the water again, this time with a strand of seaweed around a finger.

"For real?!" she yelled at it.

Then the last conversation she had with the PAA at the grange came to mind. She looked beyond the big fight scene, to the smoke billowing up in the darkening sky. The fire.

Feeling squeamish, Stella picked the hand up by the strand of seaweed, and headed toward the fire. Any time it tried to climb up to grab a hold of her, she'd swat it back down.

*

"You should have just left Stella alone," Damien warned.

"You don't know anything about it. I loved her. Love her." His once perfect hair was out of place, and his suit torn in a few places. He obviously already had a tussle with another werewolf, and somehow got away.

Maggie said, holding onto Damien's bulging arm like a security blanket, "You're a liar, Billy. You don't love her."

"Shut up, Maggie."

"No! You don't love her! You don't know what love is! No one in this dysfunctional family knows what love is!"

Billy let out a laugh. Then laughed some more, louder. "And you think you know what love is? Crushing over werewolves, our sworn enemies? You're a hoot, sister!"

"Don't call me that."

"What? Sister?" He took a step closer, and she clung tighter to Damien. "You don't want me to call you sister now? Well, that's fine. How about this? Traitor. Yep. That sounds more like it. Traitor. You are the one who conspired this whole werewolf-zombie meet-up, aren't you? On my wedding day, no less. If that's what you wish, then fine by me, traitor. You know what we do to those like you; don't you, traitor?"

In all the drama, Damien hadn't noticed that the zombies were starting to overtake his pack. Even the zombies strewn around the ground were starting to pop back up to life. None of the bodies had been shred or taken to the fire, so even broken-off limbs were writhing around, eager to kill. It wasn't until Carrie and Mary peeled themselves off the ground, Carrie popping her slimy eye back into its socket, Damien realized the horror.

A few howls pierced the sky. Rock, C-Lo and Joe were each tied to their own pole, taken from the event tent. They couldn't break loose from their metal bands taken from the archway's once perfect floral arrangement.

"Run away," a voice entered Damien's mind. It was Rock.

"No," Damien said out loud, shaking his head.

"Run, dude!" C-Lo said next. "Get out while you can!"

"I can't," he said out loud again, and Billy looked at him inquisitively.

"Run!" three voices ordered this time.

But he watched as a horde of zombies lifted his friends on their poles like giant shish-kebabs, heading in the direction of the fire. There was no way he would run away, though fear told him he was being a fool. Billy smiled in glee, even putting a hand up to his chin and tilting his head at the surprising situation.

Then Damien saw Stella. What was she doing? Walking back? He could tell she thought she was being inconspicuous by following along the road, but it would unquestionably get her in trouble—her daring, and stupid move! And for what reason? He quickly averted his eyes, knowing Billy might catch on.

Marsha and Ted joined their son, standing across from Damien and Maggie. Billy pointed elegantly with a hand toward the smoke. "You've come just in time for a barbeque. Would you care to join us?"

Marsha let out a high-pitched laugh through her nose and clutched her hands together in amusement.

A zombie with a missing arm came running from the direction of the fire. "We've found some other wedding crashers!"

"Other wedding crashers?" Billy and Damien said in unison, then looked at each other.

"Yes, some kids. Teenagers."

"Well, then... I'm in a party mood. Teenagers like to party. Let's add them to the barbeque, shall we?" The crowd agreed with Billy. "It looks like," he said to Damien, "your little plan has turned in our favor. Let the festivities begin!" He glanced back around the beach in frustration. "And would someone go get Stella for me?!"

Damien looked back up to where he saw Stella a moment ago. She wasn't there. Hopefully, she'd changed direction, and run off to safety.

No one bothered tying Damien up, as they all headed around the rocks to the fire. It was raging high in the sky. The biggest bonfire he'd ever seen, looking alive and hungry, as if it knew food was on its way. Maggie still clung to his arm. "Got any bright ideas?" she asked him out of the corner of her mouth.

He just shook his head, his blood boiling over the fact that his new friends, his pack, seemed doomed.

"Think, Damien. Think," Maggie said.

"I am."

Now they could see Caleb, Kit and Gordon, tied to each other beside the fire.

"What are you doing here?" Damien yelled at them in frustration.

Gordon shrugged a shoulder and said, "We wanted to help."

"How did you know about this?"

Maggie loosened her grip from his arm, and said, "I might have told them. I'm sorry. I didn't know they'd follow us."

Kit said, "Technically, I didn't want to come. I was the only level-headed one of us. But they wouldn't listen to me, and I couldn't just stay home while my boyfriend would get in a zombie fight."

"Yeah, very level-headed," Damien returned.

"Well," Billy stepped forward, and circled the other members of the PAA, bound and trembling, "I'm glad you came to our party. The more the merrier. Don't worry—our family and friends here don't believe in eating the brains of the living, so we'll just have to kill you first. I'm personally in the mood for slow-roasted meat over an open fire. And, coincidentally, we have this beautiful bonfire." He turned back to Damien. "And don't think we'd forget about you. Since dessert comes in smaller portions, I'm saving your brain for last. You can try and run or save your friends here, but there's no use. You're outnumbered; I always did like math...." A crooked smile showed just how crazy he truly was.

At the same time, Rock, Joe and C-Lo were being hoisted up on their poles in preparation for being placed right in the fire.

Whatever he'd do, wait and watch, or just fight—it'd probably end in doom. Damien didn't take another second to think. He jumped up and grabbed onto C-Lo's pole, making the zombies, holding the pole on either side, fall to the ground from the sudden weight. Then he went wild, ripping and tearing, gnashing his teeth into their putrid skin. It was a disgusting job, but someone had to do it. He was a whirlwind, spinning in and out of view so fast that if someone were to touch him, they'd get caught up in his storm and wind up like his first victims—shred to pieces and thrown into the flames. The fire's flames turned green, devouring the zombie pieces hungrily. It didn't take him long to do the same to those carrying the Rock and Joe shish-kebabs.

Taking the briefest of moments to catch his breath, he noticed Billy and his parents were nowhere to be seen. His eyes darted around, seeking them out. "Where is he?" he growled at those still in attendance. No one answered, so he grabbed the closest walking corpse and tossed him like a rag doll into the flames. Everyone stepped back, scared, but still, they didn't say a thing. All that was heard was the disgusting shriek from the one melting away. "I said, where is he?!" Damien grabbed the buffet table and flung it like a gigantic Frisbee, and it skipped along the ocean like a smooth rock along a creek.

"I'm going to ask you one more time," he said. "If no one answers, then you're all dead!"

But no one had to say a word this time. A car's engine could be heard rumbling awake. He could see the headlights turn on at the nearest turn-out of the road to the party.

"Damien!" a girl's voice screamed, and echoed.

FORTY-FIVE

"There is no way I am getting kidnapped again!" Stella punched at Billy sitting beside her in the backseat of the station wagon. Her fists felt like they barely made impact, however, as if they were nothing more than big cotton balls. It just frustrated her more; she wanted to pound him into the ground! "I hate you, you freak! Let me out!"

"Control your bride," Ted said from the front passenger seat.

"I'm trying, Father." Billy went to grab Stella's wrists, but she wasn't having it, and she finally got one good bop across his head.

"Goodness, when are you going to grow out of these fits?" Marsha whined. "It's so unbecoming!"

After a few more punches, Stella resigned to snuggling her door, to get away from Billy as much as possible. "Don't TOUCH me," she warned, and stared outside, to the lonely little two-way road, curving along the beach. A semi-truck eventually drove by with high beams on, and she wished for a head-on collision.

"I'm thinking Acapulco. What do you all think?" Marsha asked. "The weather is nice and balmy there, I hear, so we don't have to wear sweaters ever again. I know Stella's not too fond of sweaters."

"I think it sounds like a fabulous idea, dear," Ted said.

"Why didn't you just burn me, like you threatened?" Stella asked, coldly. "Why take me with you?"

"Because," Billy said, "I never give up, which means I always win."

*

The bus charged down the winding dark roads at high speeds. The band had freed themselves from their metal binds by morphing back into their human selves, causing their hands and wrists to be significantly smaller. Now they were all back to their werewolf shapes, huddled at the front of the bus, watching in anticipation out the large windshield.

"I think I see them!" Maggie squeezed between them. "We're gaining on them!"

*

A loud horn blared behind the station wagon.

"What on Earth is that?!" Marsha said, gripping the wheel tighter and accelerating.

Stella turned in her seat. It was a shiny, tall, black bus. Through the flood of its headlights, she could make out the silhouettes of a couple werewolves. She smiled wide, and said, "It's my rescuer."

Billy rolled his eyes. "Not him again."

*

Joe, at the wheel, took a PA off the dash and announced from the bus's outside speaker, "Yo. Attention, losers. Time to pull over your sorry, stinky butts. Let the girl go, or become flaming mince meat pie."

Caleb bounced up from his seat and went and grabbed the PA in excitement. "You're all going DOWN!"

Joe took it back. "Don't touch my stuff, dude."

*

"Maybe you should pull over, dear," Ted said, strapping his seatbelt on.

Instead, Marsha sped up even more, whipping around corners in the old car. "No. Whatever Billy wants, Billy gets. I'm not letting those dogs overpower us."

Stella gave an exaggerated sigh. "I'm sure Billy doesn't want to become mince meat pie."

For once her kidnappers were silent, having no comebacks.

*

Damien's thoughts flashed back to a news broadcast one year prior. The woman sitting behind News Channel 7's desk said in an apathetic tone, "Deborah Capernalli, a thirty-five-year-old mother of one from Jersey City, died earlier today from a head-on collision on Interstate 80."

His sights returned to the little station wagon ahead of the bus, swerving erratically over the double-yellow line in its haste. The bus's speedometer was up to seventy-five miles per hour. A speed limit sign flashed by: "55." And a truck came barreling from around a corner, blasting its horn. "Ma!" Damien blurted.

He reached out to Joe. "Slow down!"

Joe eased a bit off the gas, and everyone turned to Damien in surprise.

"You'll kill her," he said, and morphed back into his human form. His suit hung on him tattered, his shirt torn open, showing his chest. He felt his heart slam against his ribcage and sweat trickle down his forehead.

The station wagon sped on, leaving the bus far behind.

"We'll lose track of her," Rock said, morphing back to his human form too, raising his brows. "For good."

"I don't want her to die. I don't want her to die."

*

Marsha slowed down, glancing back and forth from the rearview mirror to the road again. "Hm! Looks like they gave up."

It was true. The bus was nearly out of sight. Stella wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. She took off her seatbelt and huddled against her door.

"Looks like we win." Billy exhaled in victory and laughed.

Stella's dead heart felt like it shattered into pieces.

"Well," Ted said with satisfaction, "Acapulco here we come."

"Whee!" Marsha added, her giggling sounding more like a turkey's warbling clucking.

Then, as if the woman's glee momentarily blinded her driving, the station wagon took a sharp swerve and flew off the edge of a high cliff. They were sailing down, down, down in horror, toward gigantic rocks and vicious waves. Stella's stomach darted up behind her ribcage for the entire ride.

FORTY-SIX

"NOOOO!" Damien hunched in front of the large windshield, before fumbling into a front seat. He saw it. He saw it all happen. It wasn't supposed to happen, though. He gave them space, let them take the lead. "Why?" he cried out, oblivious to his pack and the PAA hovering around him. "Why?!" The video of his mom's car crushed like a tin can on the interstate flashed through his mind. "Why?" He thought of Stella crashing into smithereens, at the bottom of the cliff.

"We need to see if she's okay," someone said. It sounded like his father.

He thought of his father racing to the scene at I-80, wrenching open the driver's side door, and seeing his bloodied mother, lying there dead, then vanishing.

"She might still be alive," his father said.

Damien opened his eyes, feeling hot tears, and looked up from his prostrate position. "Pull over." His voice shook. "We need to see."

*

They looked down at the car far below, teetered on a cluster of rocks, waves crashing against it, threatening to whisk it away. The front end was completely busted up, and a tire was more than fifty feet away. The drop down was too steep, too severe to descend.

"Stella!" Damien cupped his mouth as he shouted. "Stella!"

Kit, Caleb, Maggie and Gordon held each other's hands, looking down at the terrible scene. Kit started wailing. "She's gone. Oh, she's gone. My best friend!"

A small sound wafted up in the chilling sea breeze: "Help," it said, softly, barely audible, like a kitten meowing.

Now everyone yelled for her. "Stella!"

"Help!" the little voice called again.

"Everyone turn back into werewolves," Rock said.

"Why?" Damien asked.

"We'll be stronger." He morphed into a beast, then proceeded to climb down the cliff.

"What are you doing? You'll die," Damien said.

He froze in position. "Do you love her?"

"Yes, of course."

He nodded and continued his course.

Damien morphed too, without further hesitation. He had been involved in many sports before, but rock climbing wasn't one of them. The thick padding of his paws, and the sharpness of his nails, only helped so much.

He didn't descend more than ten feet, when he heard the definite growl of a motorcycle revving up. He held his position between some sharp stones jutting out from the cliff's wall, and looked up. A motorcycle popped up and over the edge, the wheels spinning above his head as if in slow motion, before it shot down the drop.

Damien had to catch his breath to believe what he just witnessed. He watched the motorcycle continue to glide down, the rider holding to the handlebars while his body flew above the seat. "Pa?"

"WOOHOO!" Rock yelled out with a thrill, also watching it all unfold from right before his eyes. "You are crazy, man! I worship you! Rock and roll! WOO!"

The motorcycle somehow found a groove, a vein between the sharp rocks, to land, and smoothly careen down. Damien watched in anticipation, as his father broke the back windshield, and slid out Stella's pale body. When Damien saw her hug close to her hero as he lifted her up and along the rocks, he breathed out in gratitude. "WOOOOO!" he called out, shaking a fist. He could see her face look up and she waved; though pitifully, it was wonderful. She survived.

Damien watched in further relief as Stella sat behind his pa on his motorcycle, holding him tight. When they took off, her long hair whipped victoriously like a flag in the wind. Eventually, they found their way safely up to the road, after taking long detours around the rocks and down the shoreline. Everyone waited on pins and needles, until they saw the headlamp of the motorcycle with the two silhouettes riding toward them. Damien and the others jumped and cheered at their arrival.

*

Stella felt all jittery. She could hardly believe she was finally rescued. And there was Damien, coming to pick her up off the back of the motorcycle, with his suit jacket off, his shirt torn wide open, and interestingly enough his maroon bowtie still neatly around his neck.

She reached around his neck as he lifted her up and he cradled her in his arms for a long moment. "I'm so happy you came," Stella said.

"My pa is the real hero," Damien said, looking into his eyes, and gently set Stella down. Kit and the others of the PAA swarmed her with hugs, while Damien stepped aside to talk to his father.

"You don't have to say anything," his pa said, putting his helmet on his seat.

"Yes, I do. Thank you. And I'm sorry I held a grudge."

"It's only natural, and I would too if I were you."

Damien opened his arms and the two embraced.

Just then, there was a loud boom. Everyone turned to look down the cliff, at the car. It was engulfed in flames.

"That settles that," Rock said, and everyone laughed in relief.

"Anyone in the mood for Denny's hot-wings?" C-Lo asked. "I don't know what it is—I always crave those things at night."

"Ohhh." Caleb made a noise in agreement. "Or their Grand Slam breakfast?! Two eggs, two pancakes, two bacons. Ahhh yeah!"

"Their onion rings are the best," Gordon said, "dipped in their ranch dressing."

Maggie playfully pushed his shoulder. "Are not. You're all wrong! The best is their Rootie Tootie Fresh and Fruitie!"

"Try saying that ten times fast." Caleb laughed, and attempted it. "They got some funny things on their menu."

"Yeah," Gordon pushed his glasses up on his nose, "like Moons Over My Hammy. What's that supposed to mean, anyway?"

Everyone cracked up in response, and entered the bus. C-Lo pressed his GPS, after fastening his seat belt. He said, "Find me the nearest Denny's."

FORTY-SEVEN

Shoreline's beach was warmer than usual. Stella was back home. She stood beside the ocean, in shorts and a sweater, holding Damien's hand. "You looked like a stripper."

"What are you talking about?" He shook his head with a smile.

"When you picked me up off your dad's motorcycle, you did. You totally looked like a stripper."

"I did not." He chuckled.

"Did so. You were showing off your chest and abs. Your hair was glistening and messy."

"So?"

"You even had the bow tie!"

"Okay, okay. I see what you mean." He smiled wider, showing most of his teeth. "You ready to catch a wave?" He nodded toward the two surfboards, lying in the sand just a few feet away.

"Sure, but be easy on me. I've never done this before." She stepped over to her pink board. "And were the decals really necessary?"

"Yes," he assured, stepping beside her.

They looked down to their boards, her decal boasting, "I'm with hairy," and his boasting, "I'm with stinky."

Stella turned and held both of his warm hands, looking up at him in a moment of seriousness. "Damien..."

"Yeah?"

"Do you hate the fact that I'm a zombie girl?"

He paused before shaking his head no.

"Come on. Be honest. You must hate it. I know I hate it."

"Stella," he rubbed a hand through her hair, "the only reason you survived that crash was because you're a zombie. I don't resent that."

She nodded, looked down at their feet, then back up at his deep brown eyes. "I was also lucky. The impact got the others, and then the explosion happened after I was out of the car. Without the explosion, they would have popped back alive eventually, even if mutilated." She shook. "I was very lucky."

"I'm thankful for that." He leaned down and gave her a long kiss that seemed to warm her to her core again. When their mouths separated, he asked, "What's it like to kiss a werewolf?"

"It makes me feel more alive than being alive ever made me feel."

"That's good." He cupped her face and kissed her again.

"Very good," she said.

They embraced for a long moment. She rubbed her hands across the smooth skin of his back before squeezing him tighter in thankfulness. She was so thankful she met someone like Damien. That he rescued her and that he loved her. She didn't want to let go. If she could, she would cry over the wave of emotions that came over her.

His chest still pressed to hers, she felt a familiar, nearly forgotten "thud thud-thud thud-thud."

Damien lightly pulled back and looked into her eyes. She felt something else unusual. A hand went to her cheek, rubbing away something wet.

She spurted a laugh of astonishment. "What's going on?" The beating rapped delightfully harder against her chest.

Damien smiled and shook his head at the surprise, then pretended to whine, "Does this mean I have to get a new decal?"

The end.

Read on, for info on the author and other titles.

Thank you for reading To Kiss a Werewolf! I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are always appreciated. ~Molly

www.BreezyReads.com

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To Kiss a Werewolf

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TO DATE A WEREWOLF (Werewolf Kisses, #2)

ABOUT:

Maggie's young, flirty and extra curvy, but she has a teensy-weensy problem. She's a zombie. Costly manicures and wigs won't always hide the fact that she's decomposing at an increasingly rapid rate, either. She needs a cure. Like now. And a werewolf's true-love kiss is the only solution.

SAMPLE:

The song Baby Got Back blared from a radio on a bathroom counter chock-full of beauty products. Maggie rapped along as her thick fingers rummaged around in search, scattering lipsticks and eye shadows as she went. Finding what she was looking for—Cream to Stop the Scream™—she squirted a liberal amount of the anti-decaying lotion into the palms of her hands and began "wax on, wax off" movements across her cold, plump cheeks.

"That'll do the trick," Maggie said with satisfaction. Her skin tingled and tightened up in response, like she got an instant face lift. She repeated the process two more times, all while shaking her booty to the music.

Next was makeup—she couldn't forget the false eyelashes—and then shimmying her curves into a red dress two sizes too small. If skinny girls could do it, so could she. Besides, what was better to gawk at than a pair of hot and huge biscuits?

After five squirts of a minty wash to douse her chronically bad breath, she exited the bathroom, and sunk into her apartment's living room couch. She grabbed the newspaper off her coffee table and read her personal ad for the hundredth time, to pass the time: "Blonde, curvy bombshell seeks hairy man who can bench press a truck."

Perfect. If that didn't send a secret call out to all available werewolves in her area, she didn't know what would.

It had been a really long time since Maggie had a date. Okay, nearly a century. She was only some-what embarrassed to admit that to herself. The guys her parents had set her up with weren't her type by a long shot. Maggie could withstand freezing temperatures—she was icy herself—but her idea of romance did not consist of mashing two sets of igloo-lips together. And that's exactly what it feels like when zombies kiss.

No, she did not want a zombie boyfriend. She wanted heat. She wanted fire. And the only creature who could supply so much warmth that she'd need a good hosing down afterward, was a werewolf. Now that her dear parents were conveniently out of the picture once and for all, she could go after her dreams.

And so she sat there, hoping that the guy who'd soon be ringing her doorbell was a hunky animal of a man. It could happen. Stella, the president of Maggie's old Paranormal Addicts Anonymous meetings had snagged a beastly beefcake. Not only was he a werewolf, but his true-love kiss had turned Stella from undead to alive. Yet another reason to fall in love with one!

Ding dong!

If Maggie had a beating heart, it would have leapt out of her chest at the sound. She stood and smoothed her hair that went just past her shoulders (a wig, since her hair stopped growing), then plastered a big smile on her face before opening the door.

It was a vacuum salesman.

"Son of a biscuit!" She eyed the hopeful man on her doorstep, lit by her porch light in the darkness. "No, I don't want a five-thousand-dollar vacuum. Especially at this time of night." His jaw dropped, and before he could give her a coupon or say "but," she slammed the door in his face.

Normally, she wouldn't be so rude. Many sales people came to her door: selling lawn care (though, she didn't own a lawn), pest control (though the only pests were them), books (never the type she'd actually ever buy, anyway. No one totes around paranormal romances door to door... unfortunately), and the list went on and on. No, normally she was never rude. Normally, she would stand there a moment, listen to their spiel, and then politely say, "Excuse me, but I have a soap opera waiting."

"I have got to get a 'no solicitors' sign, pronto," she said, rubbing her forehead and looking at the clock above her TV. 7:35. The guy was five minutes late. Five minutes late, when waiting for your first date in forever, feels like forever. She knew the cool thing to do was continue primping herself, so that when the guy came to the door, she'd have to answer it late, and make him wait a few more minutes until she was done. But forget it.

Ding dong! She whipped toward the door, and pulled it open like there was a pizza delivery. It was the vacuum boy again.

"What did I tell you?" she snapped.

"I'm s-sorry," he stammered. "You shut the door on the cord." He abruptly bent down and wound it tightly against his contraption.

"Oh..." She stood there, looking at him blankly a moment. "Sorry about that. Goodnight, and, um, have a lovely evening."

It was too late for encouraging words, though. The guy high-tailed it out of there, and Maggie couldn't help but watch him the entire time, as he rushed across the apartment's parking lot to his van, bumping along his cleaning contraption. She didn't mean to scare him. For a zombie girl, she actually was quite polite. It's not like she chased anyone around, trying to steal their brains... at least, not in almost a century.

The next time the doorbell rang, Maggie forced herself to calmly approach her awaiting guest, have some self respect. She peeked out the peephole, and all she could make out were chest hairs—that was good news, under the circumstances—bushing out around a gold chain necklace. Tacky. But she could deal with his flair for 70's jewelry if he indeed turned out to be a werewolf.

Maggie opened the door, and saw a man who could have been Hagrid's brother of all people. He was massive. So tall he had to duck his melon head, just so he wouldn't knock it against a lone lit light bulb. On the bright side, she quickly determined that standing next to him she could pass for a size five.

"Hey, pretty woman." Maggie had to shield her eyes from the gust of wind coming from his mouth. "Pleased to meet you." The second strong gale blew back her bangs, and she hoped her eyelashes were glued on enough.

"You... um... can bench press a truck, I presume?"

"Two," he simply said. She was thankful for the brief response, as all it offered was a light breeze across her cheeks. The next thing she knew, they both successfully stuffed themselves atop one of those little scooters you always see on Italian streets in romance movies. Her arms couldn't even reach around his stomach; instead, she got a good grip of the sides of his leather vest (no T-shirt underneath), and desperately hoped they didn't look like two sausages smooshed together on a stick with wheels; she soothed herself with the thought that in comparison to him, she was more like a little smoky.

At the Irish pub, her date was downing drink after drink without breaking a sweat. She actually hoped he got a little tipsy so she could get him to open up to her about his situation. She took a matchbox from beside the ketchup bottle, and thought it all over, as she re-lit the tea-light candle sitting in its vintage glass votive between them.

Was he a werewolf, or wasn't he? He sure was big and hairy—that was incredibly obvious—but even if he were her favorite paranormal creature, who held the cure to her zombified condition, could she fall in love with him? For the kiss to work, for it to cure her, love needed to be there.

He belched, and the candle was blown out. Could she even like him?

Maggie imagined rating her desperation on a scale of 1 through 10. She was wavering around 9, but as she narrowed her eyes at her date, studying his repulsiveness, she had to admit she wasn't that desperate. This guy needed a girl to be at a 10, or completely-off-the-charts loony.

And so Maggie stood up, threw a wad of cash at him for her half of the bill.

"Where you going, babe?" he called after her, sending a gust of wind that rippled her dress.

Maggie turned to him, and lied. "The Bachelor is coming on in six-point-five minutes, and I need to see who's getting a rose."

The guy sat there, looming his gigantic torso over the table, with his mouth hung half open. "But-but-but..."

"I'm so happy you understand." The fed-up bachelorette spun in her heels gracefully, and out of there she went, to catch the next transit back to her awaiting apartment.

First date, checked off the list. Was he a werewolf? Who knew. One poor experience, though, was no reason to give up. And so when the bus came by to sweep Maggie away, she sighed in relief and anticipated next Friday night.

End of Sample. (Book coming this February)
