Page 7

Okay. The elevator was out of the question, at least for now.

My stomach growled again, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten yet. I went back over to the staircase, and once again my legs refused to cooperate. For a split second I considered shifting into my wolf form and seeing if I could get down the stairs that way, but two things stopped me. One, I wasn’t sure how to make myself shift, and two, given how my day was going so far I’d probably get stuck in my wolf form.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t improvise.

After glancing around to check that Mr. Grayson had gone inside and there was nobody around, I dropped onto my hands and knees. The effect was immediate. That switch in my brain toggled back into place, and I was able to make my limbs work. Well, for a given value of work. I managed to scramble down the stairs in an undignified crab walk, only stopping once when my mind went blank and I couldn’t remember which way my knees bent.

When I reached the ground floor I stood and dusted myself off, relief making me weak at the knees—although that might also have been the adrenaline from my Big Staircase Adventure. Still, I’d made it, and I was going to celebrate with breakfast and the biggest cup of coffee known to man.

By the time I’d finished my bacon and eggs and chased it with two coffees and a juice, I was more settled. My vision had returned to normal, my legs were just legs, my feet were just feet, and my fingernails were—well okay, my fingernails were longer and pointier than they should have been, but that was a minor detail. I was sure I’d figure it out with time.

All in all I was feeling pretty good about myself. I even swung by the store and picked up some Gatorade, and I was humming as I walked back to my building, carrier bag swinging from one hand. I went inside and started up the stairs—and made it all of one step before that switch in my brain flickered again and I froze, unable to go any farther.

To be clear, I could move. I just didn’t know how to make my body do what I needed it to. It felt like walking up a set of stairs was a complex tango, and the only dance I knew was the white man wedding shuffle.

I lifted my left foot in an effort to get control, but I found myself dropping my carrier bag, leaning forward, and placing my hands on the stairs. The next thing I knew I was pulling myself upward, the length of my body stretching out while my legs stayed stubbornly put.

I eased myself backward and stood, grateful there was nobody around to see me.

Left foot, right foot, I told myself.

Front paws, back feet, my brain countered stubbornly.

Except I didn’t have paws right now—and I also didn’t have control of my legs, or any idea how to get it back. It was like the connection had been cut.

Well, shit.

Since I couldn’t climb and I also couldn’t exactly camp at the foot of the stairs, that only left one choice.

I entered the elevator with all the enthusiasm of a cat approaching a bathtub. There was an alarming tightness in my chest as soon as I stepped inside and suddenly I couldn’t breathe, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. I stepped hastily out before the doors could close.

I briefly reconsidered that whole “camping at the foot of the stairs” thing, but I knew it wasn’t realistic. So instead I did what any newly minted kickass werewolf would do when faced with a challenge like this.

I called my mom.

She answered on the first ring. “Luke?” I didn’t miss the note of worry in her voice.

“Hey, Mom. Can I come over?”

“Of course. Is everything okay?”

I hesitated before replying, but I’d called her for a reason. “There’s something going on with my legs. And stairs. As in, I can’t climb them.”

Her reply was immediate and not exactly encouraging. “Oh no. I was afraid of this.”

“Oh no? What does that mean?”

She sighed. “I know what the problem is. But don’t worry. Come on over and we’ll get you some help.”

Okay, there was help available for whatever this was. That made me feel better. “Thanks, Mom.”

I ended the call and headed outside again. I walked to my parents’ house because it wasn’t far—nothing in Hyde was—and I didn’t trust myself to drive. There was no guarantee I wouldn’t stick my head out the driver’s window and start howling. Still, the short walk, with the sound of someone’s lawnmower in the background, the scent of fresh-cut grass and ocean salt, and the warmth of the sunlight on my face, helped to ease some of the tension that was prickling under my skin.

My parents lived in an old weathered cottage, painted white with faded blue trim that my dad kept promising to paint. There were a couple of flowerbeds that my mom was constantly battling to keep free of weeds out front, and a big yard out back that bordered on a wooded area where my mom liked to let her wolf run free. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was home, and the tightness in my chest eased when the front porch with its array of colorful hanging baskets came into view.

Mom met me at the bottom of the porch steps and pulled me into a tight hug, then gave me a proud smile. “My shifter son!”

I grinned back at her.