FEVERCHAIN 18

Lesbian werewolves, et cetera. FEVERCHAIN is a contemporary horror-romance serial set in the fictional Pinetown, New Jersey.

Emily S Hurricane has done it again with a thrilling voiceover! Enjoy 🛞🛞🛞

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I return to my doorway in jeans with a pair of small scissors in the back pocket (for self-defense) and a hoodie I’d stolen from Gwen two weeks ago.

“Hurryyyyy,” Rainy Williams croons. She jitters like she’s going through withdrawals. “Hop on and hold on. I’d like to keep you in one piece.”

I consider slamming the door and running, but Smokey is poking his snout between my legs, growling.

“Weird cat you got there.”

I shut the front door and lock it. “What do you want?”

“Just to chat. Keep cool and I’ll bring you back before you can say blueberry pie.”

She takes the helmet from under her arm and puts it over her head, rips another helmet strapped to her backpack and tosses it to me. When I put it on, it smells like smoke and candy.

“Come on, we’re wasting gas.”

In a series of jerks, I slide onto the vibrating motorcycle seat. Shaking like a dead branch, I don’t know where to put my hands.

“Under my pits, waist or hips.” She ties her hair up with a rubber band, and I watch her strands tear before she shoves her helmet on. Stiffly, my fingers crimp her leather jacket.

She rips out of the driveway and I squeal, feeling myself tip and nearly topple into the street. I don’t hear her laugh, but her sides clench, clench, clench against my palms.

“Where are we going?” I yell when we reach the highway, the wind pressure scathing my ears with a blaring hum.

“Wally World!”

“What?”

We lurch as Rainy slows to a normal speed. A stream of cop cars pass us, lights off. One, two, three, four, five, six. I turn my helmeted head away. She waves and doesn’t look back before accelerating far beyond the legal limit.

Blood froths in my skull as we weave nauseatingly into the Walmart parking lot. I’m relieved. Rainy can’t kill me here. It’s morning time and the store is open, a couple people are milling about, pushing metal carts. An old man waddles, a toddler screeches and tugs at his mom’s pant leg—I stare achingly, but no one looks back, the veil of our helmets creating an impersonal distance.

We pull behind the gargantuan store where no one could intervene and park in the remotest corner where weeds split the cement curb and the woods encroach.

Rainy tosses her helmet and backpack onto the corporate-owned grassy knoll and lies on it. Pats the earth beside her. I sit, knees pulled tight into my tits.

“Want a gumball?” she smacks.

Shake my head, sick of the fake pleasantries from the criminal werewolf. “I know who you are.”

She pops a pink-gray bubble.

“You’re Gwen’s ex. You bit her, didn’t you?”

Rainy smiles. “Not me. I’m not much of a dater, but Sienna and I are intimate, yes.”

“Sienna?” I internally gasp and try to remember her police sketch. She was the one with a mean little face. Evil Tinker Bell. “What do you mean? Sienna is Gwen’s ex?”

Rainy nods. “She runs with Anna more than me now, but it’s all loosey-goosey.”

Anna was the ginger with the underbite, I think. My gaze darts between Rainy, the motorcycle, the backside of Walmart. Then the motorcycle again, and the bones wired around her headlights.

“Whatcha staring at? Oh, those are Drew’s ribs.”

“Wait like—from his body?”

Rainy hoists herself on one elbow to look at me, jacket squeaking from the effort. “Relax. I just wanna level with you.”

Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Excuse me for not being trustful. I press my right asscheek into the crimped, yellow grass and feel the scissors.

“We’re in neutral territory.” Rainy gestures to the parking lot. “Don’tcha feel safe here, in your habitat?”

“You’re a werewolf,” I say.

“I’m not into labels, but sure.”

“You’re wanted by the Oregon police… for drug dealing?” I don’t really remember. That’s gotta just be the tip of the iceberg.

“Yes,” Rainy sighs. “The piglets know my face, which is why I need sugar, chickadee. Brute force can only getcha so far in the 21st century. I need to pay this guy, well it’s really a series of guys, a network of guys, to falsify some paperwork and get me Canadian citizenship and a new name and birthday.” Smack, smack. “Didya know I was born on Christmas? Maybe my new name should be Frosty.”

“So you left me the serial killer note.”

“Killer? Killer? I haven’t been the one killing, baby.” I watch her index finger loop around three rubber bands on her wrist, pull and release. The snap makes me flinch. “You know that, you already know, don’t you? How it must be?”

“How what must be?”

“You have to let Gwen go.” Her fire eyes widen. “Go with us.”

I dig my nails into my pants. “What? I don’t even—I don’t even—how do you know who I am? How do you know about us?”

“You both reek of it,” she says, lip curling slightly. “And we met your pal, Erica. She’s disturbed about Gwen’s parricide plus.”

Erica? She’s talking to these freaks?

“Parricide plus. You know what that means? There’s all sorts of words for different types of ‘cides…”

“Gwen’s family was abusive,” I blurt. “They tried to kill me!”

“Erica doesn’t know that. Regardless, it remains a…” smack, smack, “disquieting fact.”

“If you think it’s so messed up, why are you smiling about it?”

“I like to smile. Don’t be upset. Erica’s the reason we picked up that scrawny kid.”

“Emilio?”

“Sure. Erica said he was important to you.”

I stand in a flurry. “Where is Gwen?!”

Rainy cringes and makes a show of plugging one ear.

“Where is she?” I yell louder.

“We’ll bring her back.”

“What! You can’t—”

“We’ll bring her back tomorrow morning. Then she’ll stay with you until she gets the familial wealth in her possession and so you can break up with her. Do what I say, end it when we visit you again, and I’ll make sure she doesn’t come back to stalk you or tear you to shreds in a fit of grievous rage. Good deal?”

“She wouldn’t do that!”

“Bet your life on it?”

I exhale sharp and close my stinging eyes. “Yes.”

“You’ll have to keep betting—that’s bad odds, baby. Two nights in a row, one more to go. Then there’s March, April, May, July, August, September, October, November, December and Happy New Year. All will be bloodyyyyy.”

I wipe away snot, try to think. If Gwen really killed Catherine von Bergen, it’s like when Erica was bit—a breach of trust. A breach from who I thought she was. How well did Gwen even know Ms. Bergen? Did she hold anything against her? Or was she just standing in the way of getting to some goats? I don’t know if Gwen’s being impulsive, animal-stupid, or some kind of vindictive—maybe all of the above. Where does instinct end and decision start? I remember Gwenwolf navigating the bear traps and shudder.

“We’ll make sure tonight’s festivities are out of Jersey for a change,” Rainy continues as if I’m not bawling my eyes out. “We’ve got to keep moving, keep moving, keep moving.” Her fingers snap to punctuate her words. “Last night was a close call.”

I sniffle, envisioning Gwen’s gunshot wound. “Is she okay?”

Rainy nods. “Got the bullets out. She’s mostly healed—she’s in great shape, physically. Emotionally, not so much. But like Erica, I bet she’s relieved to be around those who’ve been through it. You see, I’m not your everyday stray, I’ve been playing this game since childhood.”

“I mean…” Shove my hands in Gwen’s hoodie. Imagine her warmth, and imagine it leaving me—her flushed face never between my thighs, my fingers never stroking her feathery hair. Tears fall, leaving dark blots on the heather-gray fabric. “Does she want to go with you guys?”

Rainy’s face hardens; she stops chewing. “She will once you end it.”

“Oh, god.” Turn away to ugly sob. I want to make it work. I want so badly to make it work.

“You’re doing the right thing. It’s not sustainable. A human and a werewolf?” Rainy whistles.

There is one way it could work. Maybe the only way. Then I’d understand her. All this confusion could wash away, and we could love each other clearly. “What if I was…”

“Oh no, you don’t want that, do you? You can’t get on a plane. You can’t live in a city, can’t really even visit one. You can’t hold a job—can’t focus. Can’t handle crowds. You get all these new phobias. A personality crisis. Memory of a goldfish for a long while. You become more fearful, if you can believe it. No longer at home with humanity, but the animals don’t want you either!” She thinks for a moment. “You can’t reproduce.”

“That’s fine.”

“The bite can kill you if the wolf doesn’t feel safe to come out. That’s how most of us die, really. If the wolf doesn’t feel safe, you boil up with a fever, and the hospitals can’t help you. There’s no cure. Only death.” Her eyes scour me, bottom to top. “Besides, you’re not a predator. Why would you want to be? It’s a miserable existence—much easier to go to the grocery store. You think Gwen is happy?”

“I love her,” I choke out.

That doesn’t seem to impress. “You’ll find another, better blondie in no time. There are more people than pigs on the planet, much more. And people can live anywhere, they’re so adaptable. They make themselves available, anywhere, anytime… There are so many of them. So many people.”

Stab my stubby, chipped nails into my eyebrows. I don’t want anyone else. I don’t think I ever will, and I’ll be fucked up forever—

“Think of your mother.”

I whip around. “What about my mother?!”

Rainy’s dark brow lifts and blood drains from my face. She keeps smiling, eyes bright with satisfaction. Her eyes—they move strangely, the left seems to chase after the right. It’s subtle, but they do not move in unison. “Relax, baby. All I mean is, our lifestyle is very immoral. From a human perspective.”

I drag a clammy hand down my face. “I get it, okay? I get it. I’ll—end it.”

Rainy smacks happily, claps her hands together. “Sweet! Wait until after she gets the sugar and we come into town. We’ll visit you first to check in—at your diner. Sorry about the window, by the way. Then ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ and your life will be fur-free.”

What other choice do I have? Gwen can’t protect me from them. She can’t even protect me from herself. It’s almost a relief to not have a real choice, ‘cause I doubt I’d make the right one. “Can I ask you something, before you bring me home?”

Rainy’s already standing, helmet on. “Shoot.”

“Are vampires real?”

She cracks a laugh. “Real as Santa Claus. Oh baby, you’re funny!”

My ears ring with silver bells the whole ride home.