Sunblind Read online

  “Arla!” I gasp.

  Why isn’t she moving? Why does she look like she’s dead? Vague images flash through my mind, and I see her screaming and running and falling to the ground. No, I refuse to believe that I could have done anything to her. I have the spirit under control, we’re working together—I, it, we would never harm a friend. My heart stops, would we?

  “Is Arla all right?” I ask, my voice shaking along with my body.

  “She’s fine,” Archie replies. “Looks like she’s sleeping.”

  I close my eyes and breathe deeply and roughly until my body stops shivering from the thoughts that were just racing through my head. Now that those thoughts are placated, new ones arrive.

  “What are you two doing here?” I ask.

  “A Wolf Pack’s never too far from its leader, is it?”

  Caleb’s question is meant to make me smile, but it only spurs more questions. Recognizing my need for quick answers, Caleb offers me as many as he can. For some reason Arla had the GPS device around her arm, so when it stopped moving about an hour ago he and Archie followed the trail, thinking that it would lead them to me and possibly Luba. They never imagined they’d find Arla passed out next to me. Archie adds that he brought the blanket I’m clinging to in case I transformed and needed some privacy, but they never expected to find me post-conversion. They didn’t think it was possible for me to change back until daybreak; I didn’t either.

  “I guess the rules have changed yet again,” I whisper, more to myself than my unexpected company.

  “We found this a few yards away,” Caleb says. “Arla really came prepared.”

  My boyfriend hands me a plastic bag filled with sweatpants, some underwear, a sweatshirt, and sneakers. But these are Arla’s clothes. Whatever. She must have brought them with her when she came looking for me. I can’t remember. Unlike after recent transformations, I can’t remember anything.

  “My head is a total blank,” I say, tying the laces of my sneaker.

  “You don’t remember anything?” Caleb asks.

  “Zilch.”

  I look up at the sky, which is now a dark navy blue. It looks immense, so much bigger than we are, and I feel puny because I know that it holds so many mysteries that we’ll never unlock. What’s contained in the sky just beyond our vision? Will we ever find out if anyone is looking back at us? How can three stars line up so perfectly in one straight line?

  “Nadine and Napoleon were here,” I blurt out, finally remembering a bit of what happened.

  “You saw them?” Archie asks.

  “Yes,” I reply. “They were here with Luba.”

  Archie’s eyes search mine. He wants more information, and he wants me to shut up at the same time. He doesn’t want proof that his boyfriend is connected to the woman who’s cursed me, but that’s all I have to offer. And I’m too tired and my mind is too foggy to lie, so all I can do is tell what I know.

  “It’s like we suspected, Caleb,” I say, looking up at the stars. “They’re connected to Orion.”

  “The constellation?” he clarifies. “But how?”

  Shaking my head, I draw the blanket closer around me; unprotected by my wolf fur I feel the chill clinging to my body. “I don’t know, but they are. All three of them—Luba, Nadine, and Napoleon.” I see Archie wince at the mention of his boyfriend’s name. “I’m sorry, Arch, but it’s true.”

  Wordlessly he responds by simply nodding his head. What else is there to say when you find out the love of your life is connected to a source of evil?

  “So the tattoos and Jess’s diary and the references to Orion by Luba and Mrs. Jaffe weren’t mere coincidences; they actually meant something?” Caleb asks, consolidating what we currently know.

  I nod my head. “They were all clues to their connection,” I confirm. “What that connection is I can’t remember.”

  I may not remember how the twins are connected to Luba, but I do understand their goal. They didn’t kill Arla and me, but they left us here side by side as some sort of warning. A reminder that they’re superior.

  “But they didn’t hurt you, Dom,” Archie observes. “I mean you two are fine.”

  “Well, Domgirl’s fine,” Caleb corrects. “Jury’s still out on Arla.”

  Gently, I nudge Arla’s arm to try and wake her up, but she obstinately clings to sleep. At least I pray she’s sleeping. I shut my eyes tight because an image of my mother pops into my head, and I can’t bear the thought of Arla’s becoming like her, unresponsive and silent. If that happens, I know that I’ll be to blame; the only reason Arla is out here is because of me. She must’ve followed me after I left the house. Temptation must’ve been too hard to resist; she wanted to see firsthand what secrets were going to be revealed. I refuse to believe that the only revelation will be that she will suffer the same fate as my mother and never wake up again.

  “Arla!” I scream. “Wake up!”

  My voice is abrupt and loud and demanding, and it startles Caleb and Archie, startles them into action. Flanking Arla on either side, they lay the blanket over her to keep her body warm and start to rub her arms, let her know that she isn’t alone, let her know that she has to come back to us. I kneel at her feet and grab her ankles. I can feel blood pulsing through her veins, so I know there’s still hope that she’ll open her eyes and everything will return to normal. But why is she taking her sweet time?

  “C’mon, Arla,” I say. “Wake up!”

  Now the boys start to raise her arms up and down, trying to trick her into thinking that she’s moving, that she’s already awake. It actually works! Her eyes begin to quiver, and her arms try to break free from the boys’ hold; they’re no longer limp. She digs her heels into the ground as if she’s stretching or walking or desperately trying to outrun whatever force has got such a hold on her. Her movements quicken and become more urgent. At the same time we all let go of her, and freedom sets her free.

  “Let go of me!”

  “Easy, Arla,” Caleb says. “It’s just us.”

  Wild-eyed, Arla looks around, her expression quieting only when she determines Caleb was speaking the truth. She’s only surrounded by her friends, no one else.

  “Are you all right?” I ask.

  Sitting up, Arla looks at her body and comes to the same conclusion we’ve already come to: Outwardly she looks fine. Internally, maybe not.

  “My head is killing me,” she groans. “Are they gone?”

  She remembers too! Greatly relieved, I allow myself to smile. My friend isn’t hurt. I didn’t give her yet another scar—physically or emotionally; she didn’t suffer once more from the curse that is supposed to only affect me. She’s unharmed by whatever events just transpired. But obviously not untouched.

  “I’m connected to Luba,” she announces.

  “What?!”

  That’s the collective response, and it’s filled with disbelief and disgust and disapproval. There is no way that Arla is connected to Psycho Squaw. Or is there?

  “Dom, don’t you remember?” she asks.

  Obviously not. At least not as much as Arla does.

  “My father is dating Melinda Jaffe!” she exclaims.

  While Caleb and Archie shout and ply Arla with requests for more details, my memory returns. Barnaby casually mentioning that Mrs. Jaffe is Louis’s girlfriend; Louis not getting angry that Barnaby revealed what he had been trying to keep secret; Arla and I freaking out over the disclosure of her father’s love life; my sudden transformation.

  “I turned into a wolf in your bedroom,” I divulge. Arla nods her head in agreement. “But how did I get outside without anyone seeing me?”

  “The old ‘crash right through the window screen’ routine,” Arla replies.

  The way she’s holding the sides of her head, it looks like something is trying to crash through her skull, from the inside out.

  “But how does your father’s girlfriend connect you to Luba?” Archie asks.

  “Because Melinda’s kids are workin
g with Luba,” she confirms. “They were here!”

  “You saw them?!” I cry.

  Completely awake now, Arla stands up. She doesn’t need the blanket any longer for warmth; she has enough fire in her belly, so she lets it fall to the ground at her feet.

  “The three of them were floating in midair in front of you!” she shouts, unable to fathom how I can’t remember such an image. “It was like something out of a horror movie! Luba in the middle, Old Lady Ringleader, and her two minions on either side. I have no idea why they’ve joined forces with her, but the three of them are working as a team.”

  “So those were the three that Jess was talking about,” Caleb adds. “Luba, Nadine, and Napoleon.”

  “No.”

  Archie’s voice isn’t loud, but it isn’t weak either. It’s final. He refuses to believe his boyfriend could actually be a part of something so consciously evil.

  “I don’t believe you,” he says.

  “Archie, honey, I know this is a shock,” Arla says, her voice now more like a quivering flame than a roaring fire. “But I saw him hanging in the air alongside the other two.”

  Fists clenched, Archie starts to pace, moving randomly to the left, then the right, hoping that he’ll move toward the truth that will disprove what the rest of us have come to believe.

  “So okay, Nap was here.... He’s somehow, somehow connected. That doesn’t mean he’s . . . like them; it just means he was here.”

  He was more than here; he was participating.

  “They were raising their arms in unison toward Orion and collecting its starlight like fuel to hurl at Dominy,” Arla describes. “And they weren’t trying to start up a game of supernatural dodge ball. They wanted to hurt her.”

  Thank God there was a witness this time, because I don’t remember any of this. It’s like the first transformations, like a plastic bag is over my head and my vision is distorted. I can only see glimpses of things, and if I want to see the whole picture I have to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. For some reason Arla has a perfect snapshot of what happened. Maybe because she was just an observer and not a participant, I don’t know, but however it’s happened, I’m grateful. At least we have some answers. Even if we don’t have the full explanation just yet.

  “If he was there,” Archie says, “he was there against his will.”

  Shaking her head Arla refutes his words even before she speaks. “There’s no way you can brainwash someone to act like that,” she states. “I’m sorry, Archie. Your boyfriend cannot be trusted.”

  The night sounds take over. The wind, the birds, the nocturnal animals make noise all around us because we can’t. The sounds are solemn, like the mournful chanting of a cluster of monks, the only purpose to remind us of our faults and our need to ask forgiveness for our sins. I know the sound well. And now, unfortunately, Archie knows it too.

  “But . . . this can’t be.”

  He says the words, but he doesn’t believe them, not really. I look up at the moon, and once again I’m filled with an incredible feeling of ambivalence; I’m in awe of its majesty, but filled with rage at its lack of mercy. I’m the one who’s cursed; I’m the one who should be suffering! Instead it’s as if I’m in quicksand, descending lower and lower into some unknown hell, and the quicksand isn’t satisfied with only one sacrifice, so it’s making me reach out and bring extra bounty with me. I’m paying back my friends’ loyalty and support and love by introducing them to pain and anguish and despair.

  “I love him.”

  Archie’s words are quiet, but they bounce off of the trees and the ground like thunder in the night. I want to cover my ears; I want to run and hide, but I can’t. Caleb must know that I’m fighting the urge to break free, that the pain I’m inflicting is almost too much to bear, so he sits next to me and holds my hand, but that only makes matters worse. This is all Archie’s ever wanted, all he ever dreamed about: to sit on the ground in the middle of the night holding his boyfriend’s hand. I’ve taken that away from him; I’ve destroyed the first dream he’s ever had that came true. Restlessly, I turn my head. I don’t want them to see me cry, but they can hear the sobs. Nothing I do seems to protect them. Nothing I do seems to shield them from the truth.

  “Don’t cry, Dom,” Archie whispers.

  And nothing I do seems to make my friends leave me.

  “Why . . . why don’t you people . . . hate me?” I ask.

  My voice is barely a whisper, as if my question is almost too heavy, too impossible a thought to speak out loud. My friends find the response to be an easy one. I feel arms wrapping around me, and I try to push them away, but they’re determined to grab hold of me.

  “No one could ever hate you for any of this.”

  I have no idea who’s talking, not that it matters; one voice speaks for them all. Now it’s my turn to speak.

  “I’m so sorry, Archie,” I say, my words and my arms wrapping around him.

  “Me too,” he says. “I guess it was too good to be true.”

  “Gone away is the bluebird.”

  Why in the world is Arla singing?

  “Here to stay is the new bird.”

  And in Napoleon’s voice?

  “He sings a love song, as we go along . . .”

  And why in the world is Archie staring at her as if her lyrics contain the key to unlocking all the mysteries of life? Because they may not unlock all of life’s mysteries, but they do unlock some of ours.

  “Walking in a winter wonderland.”

  “Napoleon?” he asks, his voice filled with wonder.

  Slowly life returns to Arla’s eyes. While she was singing they were vacant and lost, as if they had been removed from her body. And in a way they were, because they were being controlled by someone else, by Napoleon.

  “Hey, what did I miss?” she asks, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips. “I think I spaced out for a bit.”

  “No, I think Napoleon was just using you as some sort of psychic conduit,” I reply matter-of-factly.

  “Oh is that all,” Arla replies, equally nonchalant.

  “That’s our song,” Archie stammers.

  “‘Winter Wonderland’ is your song?” Caleb asks, incredulously.

  “Nap loves that Caleb calls me Winter. He says it’s perfect,” Archie explains. “So he sings that Christmas carol to me when we’re alone.”

  “And you think Nap is using Arla to communicate with you?” Caleb asks.

  “It’s possible,” Arla claims. “I remember that they did something to me.”

  “What?!” Archie demands.

  “They both grabbed me, Nadine and Napoleon, and then it’s all a blank.”

  Regardless of what the twins did to Arla, she doesn’t look like she’s in any pain, her headache is gone, and she doesn’t seem to be suffering from any other physical repercussions as a result of this telepathic connection. But this is only the beginning of their bond; who knows what this is going to do to her. Or to Archie.

  Breathing deeply, his chest rising up and down underneath his jacket, Archie tries not to cry, but he can’t stop the flow of tears that slide down his face. He’s too overwhelmed with memory and promise.

  “He said he wanted to learn how to be a good friend, like Caleb is, because he never had any friends,” Archie sobs. “So he used Caleb’s words to make our connection even stronger.”

  It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard and also the most painful. I’m reminded that Caleb and I have our own connection, our invisible string, our playacting of Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester. Archie and Napoleon are no different.

  “This changes everything!” Archie squeals.

  “Maybe,” Caleb says softly. “But you still have to be careful.”

  Wiping away his tears and accepting a warm bear hug from Caleb, Archie agrees. “I know, I know,” he says. “My boyfriend is caught up in something . . . something that could potentially be deadly. I’ve seen enough to know that.” Archie stands back, releasing
himself from Caleb’s hold; he’s found the strength to stand on his own. “But thanks to Arla, I’ve also heard enough to know that he’s trying to tell me not to give up.”

  “I don’t know what I did, Arch,” Arla states. “But if it gives you hope, you hold on to it.”

  “But like Caleb said,” I interrupt, “keep your eyes open along with your heart.”

  Standing here in the middle of practically nowhere, I feel like we’re finally getting some direction. We know that Nadine and Napoleon are working with Luba in some capacity. There’s the possibility that Nap is fighting against her hold, so that’s a welcome thought—not one that we can fully embrace yet, but one that we can entertain.

  I also suspect that the wolf and I are working even closer together. Ever since I woke up I’ve felt this new sensation—like the spirit’s lingering within me. He gave up his physical dominance over me so I could be with my friends, but he didn’t let go of me completely. I’ve always carried over some physical remnants of the wolf with me when I return to my human form—enhanced vision, pumped up athleticism—but this feels different. The only way I can describe it is that my soul has changed. It’s making room for another. That must be why I was able to transform back before the full moon disappeared from the sky: Because I really didn’t change; I brought the wolf spirit back with me, and we’re fusing together in even more complicated ways.

  Sadly, I’m not the only one in the midst of a complicated transformation.

  I have a visitor when I enter my bedroom. Once again Barnaby is waiting for me, sitting on my bed.

  “We meet again, Sis,” he says. His mouth in full smirk alert.

  “This might not be our house, Barn, but this is still my room,” I reply, equally as smug. “No trespassing.”

  “And no sneaking out in the middle of the night for a hot rendezvous with your boyfriend,” he snipes. “Or whoever else you’re meeting out there.”