Claire De Lune by Christine Johnson Page A

there?”
    Damn.
Claire glanced at the doorknob. Unlocked.
Damn!
“Uh, yeah, Lisbeth. I just knocked something over.” Claire hurried over to her bathroom, anxious to get another door between the two of them.
    “All right, if you’re sure.” Lisbeth sounded doubtful.
    “Yep, just getting in the shower,” Claire called, slamming the bathroom door behind her and locking it. She slumped against the wall, relieved. She took a deep breath, and thought about what her mother had told her the night before—that she had to pull herself back into human form, like stuffing the fur back under her skin.
    She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. After a few seconds, she cracked open an eyelid and looked at her hands, which were still covered in fur.
It’s not working!
    Claire’s gaze fell on the razor sitting on the edge of the tub.
I said I was getting in the shower. Maybe I’m not such a liar, after all.
    Shaving the fur off the backs of her hands was easy, but her ears still had dark patches when she was finished. If she kept her hair down over them, they looked normal enough. Claire wadded up the damp clumps of fur in a pile of toiletpaper and buried them in the trash can. She stared at herself in the mirror.
It’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing.
    Claire stomped downstairs, looking for her mother. On her way to the darkroom, she ran into Lisbeth, her arms full of laundry. The pile of clothes flopped out of her grip, landing on the floor. On top was a lavender T-shirt of Lisbeth’s, spattered with dark stains.
    Lisbeth blinked twice and then looked at Claire. “I hope those wine spots come out in the wash.” She gathered up the clothes and held the bundle to her chest.
    Wine?
Claire wondered.
Lisbeth never drinks.
    “So,” Lisbeth said, her voice breezy. “Off to storm the castle?”
    “I’m going to go talk to my mom, actually.”
    “Not right now you’re not. She just left to go meet with some potential clients—said she wouldn’t be back until late.”
    “What? How could she go when I just—” Claire barely caught herself in time. Not telling Lisbeth what was going on was harder than she’d thought it would be.
    “When you just …” Lisbeth prompted.
    “Never mind.” Claire turned around and headed back upstairs.
I’ll just wait until she gets home. I can be patient. And then as soon as she comes in, I’ll
make
her tell me everything she left out—like how to keep from turning into a wolf in the middle of the freaking afternoon.
    “Hey, Claire?” Lisbeth called after her.
    “Yeah?”
    “Your ears look sort of funny. Is that rash back? Maybe I should call Dr. Abramowitz and get you an appointment.”
    Claire’s hand crept up to cover the mark. “It’s nothing. I just burned myself with a flat iron.”
    Lisbeth frowned. “Oh, okay.” She didn’t sound convinced.
    Claire bounded upstairs and slammed her bedroom door. The cell phone sitting on the edge of her vanity caught her eye. The screen flashed at her—four new messages.
    Claire flipped open the phone and speed-dialed her voicemail. The first message was from Matthew. His voice sounded shaky, and Claire could hear other people and cars in the background.
    “I just wanted to make sure that you got home okay, since—well. Since what happened at the neighbors’ last night. Call me, okay?”
    Claire deleted the message. The next two voicemails were from Emily. She demanded details about the night before—what had they watched, had the outfit worked, had they kissed? Claire was dying to talk to Emily but not about Matthew. She wanted to tell her best friend that her mother had ruined her life last night. But she thought about the dead-serious look on her mother’s face when she’d told Claire not to say anything. And also she didn’t really know how Emily would take that sort of news. Claire sighed and deleted Emily’s voicemails. The last message was blank. Claire checked the missed calls list—it had been