Chapter 1: Saturday, January 12: Sel CHAPTER 1 SATURDAY, JANUARY 12 SEL "Sel. Sel ." I snap back to the room. Lucas Torres is leaning forward, elbows on his knees, frowning slightly. "Sorry. Miles away." I grab the glass of water from the small table next to me and sip it, stalling. It takes me a couple of seconds to remember where I am.
Lucas''s therapy office at the Wellness Center. It looks out onto the misty parking area, the few cars rimmed with frost, windows opaque. There''s a crow pecking at something in the corner by the trash cans, its powerful beak stabbing and pulling, inky black head popping up to check its surroundings before getting back to work. My stomach rolls queasily as I realize what it''s eating: a dead squirrel. You can still just make out the space where a shipping crate once sat. That''s where it happened--the bite that changed me, just a few months ago. But the bite itself isn''t what I was thinking of just now. In my mind, I was in the forest again.
Images and sensations from recent Howl nights roll through me in waves--things I shouldn''t be able to remember. I only had a few months as a normal Ripper, changing once a month to a wolfish beast along with the rest of the town. I would wake up in the morning after Howl night back in my human body, happy, but without a clue where I''d been or what I''d done. Not anymore. Ever since that bite, when that Howl night sunset arrives, I can watch as the hairs emerge from my skin as my limbs expand, shuddering with the power that courses through them. I can decide where to go. I place my paws with intent and feel every stone under my toe pads. I hang out and wrestle with neighbors and acquaintances who, come dawn, don''t have a clue they ever saw me.
And I always seek out Ingrid, because she was bitten by the mutated monster that we called the Revenant too. Our corpus pilori --the virus that causes Turning for everyone else--has changed in response. We''ve taken to calling it extra pilori . Corpus was easy--you just change and spend the night happily playing as a Ripper. But extra needs management. It takes you by surprise. " Sel . You''re doing it again.
" Lucas is patient, but I can tell he''s getting frustrated. This is his actual paid job now, but my sessions are free because Mom is dead worried about my behavior and he knows we don''t have money to spare. He''s a good guy, but he doesn''t yet have the kind of training and experience that would enable him to crack me open and get me to spill my guts. It doesn''t help that he''s my best friend''s dad either. I push myself straighter in the armchair, screwing my face up in the hope it''ll keep my brain from wandering off again. "Sorry, sorry. I''m. tired.
This chair is really comfy. It''s making me sleepy." I can''t look Lucas in the eye. He''s been through so much himself, and he wants to help. It''s not his fault I''m lying to him. "Let''s talk about why you''re constantly tired." He checks the paper in front of him, with my blood test results. Nothing sinister has shown up, to my relief.
"Do you have trouble sleeping?" "I sleep fine." "You know, sometimes depression can stop you from enjoying things you used to enjoy. We''ve all been through a lot--and you''ve seen me experience it myself. It can even dull your senses--" "I''m not depressed." My senses aren''t dulled. Quite the opposite. As if on cue, here it comes. An ominous tingling, like static crackling over my skin, a sensation of momentary weightlessness, a pop in my ears, the colors of the room around me fading, turning sepia, and BOOM , the cacophony at the edges of the world comes rushing in.
The high-pitched whine of a scanner at the other end of the building. A pencil scratching on paper at the desk outside. A toddler crying in the waiting room, birds chattering outside the window, a whispered conversation in the corridor. Then my attention is dragged back into the room. Lucas has left a trace of lavender soap just under his ear; must have missed it when he was washing this morning. The warmth of his skin helps lift the scent into the air. His perspiration underneath has notes of cumin, chili, and turmeric from last night''s dinner, and other things that I know from biology lessons must be electrolytes, pheromones, bacteria, even tiny, harmless amounts of toxins. My brain lays them all out separately for me without my asking or wanting, like an overenthusiastic waiter brandishing a restaurant menu in my face.
Another intrusive thought slides in: his carotid artery is right there too. For some reason I know exactly where a bite would sever it. And what would happen next. Nausea rises, acid in my throat. I drag my eyes off Lucas''s neck, take another sip of water, and swallow, trying to get rid of the taste. It eases my throat a little, but it doesn''t wash the sensations away. I''ve been getting them for a while now. When I''m Turned, at least it feels more appropriate; and I can run it off, go sniff things, till it fades.
These occasional leaks into my human life are. unsettling. My heartbeat quickens and I have to fight to stay calm, to reason with myself. It''s not like I want to. you know, actually hurt him. Break his skin with my teeth. The idea is repulsive. All the same, I need to get a grip on myself.
Finally, the sounds fade away, and the room stops smelling like a cross between an abattoir and a perfume factory. I blink as the colors dial up again, brighter, saturated, normal. Breathe, Sel. It''s over . "I think we should talk about the effects of that bite." Just as my muscles have started to relax, an electric pulse jolts through my body. He knows ? "What. do you mean?" I croak.
"Emotionally," he adds, and I breathe again. "Do you want to talk through that night again? It''s clearly still affecting you." That night . Our shorthand for twelve hours of horror. The chaotic darkness of the Revenant--a marauding, mind-controlling, power-hungry monster, and part-time pensioner. My ex-friend, Harold. He drank Ingrid''s blood and mine before he died, and that''s why we''re now where we are. Extra .
Like corpus pilori but with added nuts. I''m picturing a twirling strand of DNA that he broke, or twisted, or grew, but really I have no idea. "I''ve already told you everything that happened that night," I say, picking my words carefully. I have been open with him about those hours. Just not about everything since. "There''s no point saying it again. I talk about this stuff all the time with my friends." A muscle in his jaw twitches, but he nods, glances down at his notes.
"All right. I''m glad you have friends to confide in, even if you won''t talk to me. I know Elena''s there for you. We''ll move on." Elena. His daughter, and my best friend. We''ve been through everything together. Unlike Mom--who would just go out of her mind with worry--my closest friends now know about mine and Ingrid''s current problems.
Elena, Pedro, Mika, and Ben. Early on, Ingrid told them all what''s up. I haven''t told them everything though. Especially not about what nearly happened with Eddie, my dog. Elena would be shocked. She''d look at me differently. They all would. I take another slow, calming sip from my glass.
"One strange thing, though: your mom says you tried to rehome your dog with Mika." The water goes down the wrong way, making me splutter and cough. Oh, now we''re getting too close. I make the coughing fit last longer than necessary, hoping he''ll move on, but he just waits. It''s probably one of the techniques he learned in his counseling course. If I was going to confide in Lucas, this would be the moment. But I know what happens next in these situations: tests. Needles.
Isolation, probably. And I''ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Literally--it says Sequest: Making You Better! and I''ve had it for years. I''ve grown out of it now, but I keep it as a reminder of what they did. Sequest itself is gone after being exposed for keeping Rippers locked away from the rest of the world. It''s been broken up, all its property and tech parceled out to different companies. One of those, Probius, is a few hours'' drive from Tremorglade.
It specializes in virus research and has apparently made a breakthrough in the search for a cure for corpus pilori . Its biggest cheerleader is Sherman Goss--my chief local hater, head of the Immutable Alliance. and my friend Ben''s dad. He''s organized a crowdfunding campaign for Probius, to help speed up the process of finding a cure. Maybe they''re good people. Maybe they''re not. You can bet I won''t be mentioning my current situation to them though. They''re not getting their rubber-gloved hands on me.
My leg starts jiggling. "Uh. What?" "Sel." He sighs. "Your dog. Why did you try to give him away?" "I don''t know." What else can I say? I was scared I might eat him? This was back when my symptoms first showed up six months ago--I started getting this sudden urge to chase him. Not just the normal playchasing that Rippers often do.
It felt real. Like if I caught him, I might actually. you know. It took me by surprise, and I panicked. But I''m handling it now. I''ve found an outlet for those u.