FEVERCHAIN 9

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

Voiceover by the enrapturing Emily S Hurricane.

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The finished basement looks unfinished, walls punched with holes and insulation guts exposed. Lying very still is a mass of gray rippled tan fur chained to weights and exercise equipment. I can see its ribs—a big, long emaciated dog, resting its snout between its paws. Like every ASPCA commercial mashed together. At the same time, distinctly wolfish. And distinctly human—its shoulders substantial, paws elongated, clawed, thumbed hands. Chained to an elliptical, a treadmill, and weights, the shackles are flush with its flesh, digging, irritating. Ankles and snout pink with blood. The carpeted floor is ripped to the concrete, scratched deep.

It looks at me. Eyes reflective, expressive. Brown. It looks at me, with recognition. Wet nose twitches, ears not quite pinned back until the eyes fall on Wade, or perhaps on the crowbar he’s holding. I try to see whether Smokey’s bite is still visible on her, but fur covers it.

“Gwen?”

The ears turn. She emits a sonic whine. My chest shatters.

Just when I’m about to step, Wade says: “Don’t.”

With a shaky hand, I hide my face.

“Around Christmas, the second time she turned with us, I tried to touch. When I got close, I saw its muzzle, the drool. I drew back. Once I did, its jaw snapped. Right where my hand was.” He looks at me without turning. “It isn’t her, Binny. You gotta understand that. If you don’t understand it now, you fucking will. One day one of us will slip up and it’ll be a fucking bloodbath. I dream about it. Every night.” He shivers, lowers his voice. “If my parents don’t kill you first, it will. If I were you, I’d drive. Drive West ‘til you can’t.”

Gwen is deathly still. Her gaze shifts between us, breath audible but shallow. She’s sick, I realize. She’s weak.

“I have nowhere to go. M-my mom, she’s all I have. She won’t leave, won’t believe me.”

“Take my car. Tonight.”

Behind the dog’s forehead and brow—is Gwen’s mind? She watches me closely, like she’s reading my lips… If she can’t understand my words, she must understand my fear. My affection. Licks her nose.

“I’ll shoot my parents, burn the house down, and go with you.”

I gawk at Wade. His knuckles are white around the crowbar. “That’s the only way we live. Your mom lives.”

“Stop it!” I hiss, glancing up the stairs. “There has to be another way. I could never do that,” I say to Gwen. “Never.”

Wade sighs. Relief or disappointment? His eyes scan me. “Correct answer.” He gestures up the stairs with his crowbar.

While I ascend, the exercise equipment strains, plastic fissures and chips away, weights ding against each other, chains and claws cut concrete. I look back. She’s crawling low, eyes, bloody legs, and teeth glinting. Wade flicks off the light, shoves me up. Neither of us like that. She panics, pants, and before Wade deadbolts the door, I hear her guarantee.

↟↟↟

Somehow, I make it home unscathed. Unfollowed. Part of me wants to believe none of that actually happened, now that I’m away from it, away from the Dyer house and back at mine where the world feels realer. I sit in the driveway, holding my new phone in my hand. It’s cold, black, and glossy. I look at myself, my long nose and mouth wheezing through cracked lips.

The Dyers “gifted” me with a phone and watch. Both track my location like I’m on probation. Then they tried to convert me. So I pretended to be afraid of Gwen, instead of afraid for her.

“The petting zoo attacks. Peanut. She did that?”

“No,” they’d said. That wasn’t during a full moon! “And it would kill more than a couple pets.” Almost with pride.

“We’ve kept it contained.”

It. They’d repeated.

“But how do you know—when did you realize she was dangerous?”

They didn’t have an answer. Not really.

“Has she hurt anyone?”

“We won’t let it.”

Maybe she tries to attack you people because you’re crazy and fucking abuse her, okay?

I didn’t say that. I pretended to eat what they fed me. Washed it all down with their bitter coffee. But first chance I get: I’m telling Gwen everything. That’ll crack the Dyers’ control like an egg. I will help her, and she will help me.

When we saw each other in the basement, we reached an understanding.

That basement. I wipe my eyes and swallow hard. Wonder if I can convince my mom to go on vacation for a while. Go out of reach. Shifting, I feel the envelope full of money in my jacket pocket. Ticket money. I look out my windows, at my mirrors to see if anyone is watching, somehow listening to my thoughts.

This is going to be a fun way to live. Hopefully not until the end, if I can get through this. And I have to. They threatened my fucking mom. They will regret that.

I open the car door, cautious.

It’s 4:30 a.m. No one should be awake, and I won’t be able to sleep. I’m about to plan this vacation, this fabulous, (mediocre if I include Clyde), untouchable cruise, on my laptop. Then I see our front door. It’s wide open.