Red Rider's Hood

15 Pregnant moon

“You did WHAT with the bullets?" Grandma shouted.

I had walked around for hours before I worked up enough nerve to go to Grandma's house. It was evening by the time I got there.

I didn't mean to tell her how it happened. I started out just telling her the bullets were lost, but Grandma has a way of pok­ing and prodding at the loose ends of a story until the whole thing just unravels.

"The Wolves trust me. I had to prove myself worthy to them―they were all watching me!" It was a lie. No one had been watching. I told myself that I had a good reason for lying to Grandma, but that was just a lie, too.

"Listen," I told her. "I've got some information for you." Then I told her how the Wolves planned to sneak out through the drainage tunnel beneath Troll Bridge Hollow. "Find where that tunnel lets out, and you'll have them," I said.

Grandma sized me up for a moment, then said calmly, "That information can't help us if we don't have silver bullets," she said. "But I suppose you already knew that."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm really, really sorry."

Grandma looked at me, stared into my eyes, and said noth­ing. Then, finally, she smiled. "Of course you're sorry. I know you are."

Only there was no warmth in her smile, and her eyes were still hard.

"What are you going to do now?" I asked her.

"Oh, don't you worry about that. I'll cook up something."

"Hey―you had some other bullets, didn't you?" I asked. "The ones that were still cooling? Where did you put them?"

"Someplace safe," she said quickly, almost sharply, and didn't bother to tell me where.

I reached to my chest, feeling the little silver coin that Mom had given me. It wasn't much, but it could be melted down into a single bullet.

"Maybe I could give you some silver, Grandma."

"Don't worry, Red. I'll manage. I always have."

It was as though a chill had descended on the room. Grandma moved around the house, locking cabinets and draw­ers, as if absentmindedly. But she didn't miss a single one.

"Are you worried about me, Grandma?" I asked.

"Oh, not at all, not at all," she said. "I'm sure you know exactly what you're doing. Why don't you run along home now, Red. I have a lot to do, a lot to prepare."

"Grandma, please, let me help you."

But I could see a guarded expression on her face now, a look of suspicion that I had never seen there before.

"No, you've been enough help, I think."

I went home and tried to sleep, but couldn't, so I stared up at the moon, watching how it's trailing edge faded into darkness, so close to being full, but not quite there. A pregnant moon, Grandma called it. Full almost to bursting, and ready to give birth to something unthinkable. Tomorrow night, the Wolves would prowl the city streets, devouring anyone in their path. Tomorrow night would also change my life forever. Whatever happened tomorrow, whichever way it went down, I know nothing would ever be the same.

When my alarm went off before dawn, I got out of bed and went down to the park, but Marissa never showed. A little later I tried calling Grandma, to offer my help again, but there was no answer.

I spent the day in a kind of fog. I couldn't think straight, couldn't make any decisions. I felt paralyzed as I waited for the sun to set.

I went by the antique shop at five o'clock. A sign on the door said back in fifteen minutes, but the back door was unlocked, so I let myself in.

"Marissa," I called softly. "Are you here?"

There was no answer, so I sat down behind the register to wait.

And that's when I noticed the box on the counter by the register. It was a small, thin box, the kind that usually holds a watch or a bracelet, the kind of gift girls go gaga over.

Except this one didn't have a girl's name on it. It had mine.

I picked up the box. It didn't have any gift wrap or ribbon on it, just a piece of tape holding it closed, and another piece of tape holding the small envelope with my name on it.

I tore open the envelope and found a note.

you ain't too sharp, red.

yours trouly, marvin

I lifted the lid off the box. Inside was a tarnished silver but­ter knife.

What was it supposed to mean? Was it a threat? Not a very scary one. You ain't too sharp. Was the dull knife just a joke, or was there something I wasn't getting here? Was there some­thing about the knife itself?

I held the tarnished knife up to the light and studied it. It was heavy, thick, with a finely detailed pattern of flowers on the handle. I turned the blade over and noticed some printing on the flat side of the blade, near the handle. The words stainless steel.

It was just a cheap, steel butter knife, not an expensive silver one.

But stainless steel doesn't tarnish―that's something that happens only to silver. I looked at the knife again, scratched it with my thumbnail, and the stains came off on my fingers. Silver tarnish won't do that, you have to use special polish. So this knife wasn't tarnished at all―but it had been "antiqued." Someone had brushed it with steel wool and used special acids to make it appear like silver. People who didn't know the difference would think they were getting something of value.

A thought started to roll around in the back of my head. I put the knife down on the counter and stood up, feeling a little dizzy.

I looked across the store at the crowded shelf of knick-knacks and spotted the silver candelabra Marissa had used to find out whether or not Marvin was a werewolf.

I walked over to the shelf and stood in front of the heavy object. Five curlicue branches arched out from the center. The tarnished silver gleamed dully under the display light of the cabinet.

I didn't want to, but I reached out and picked it up. Then I scratched the base with my thumbnail. The "tarnish" came right off.

The candelabra wasn't silver at all. It was steel, treated to look like silver.

Which meant Marvin never touched silver . . .

A sharp slam of pain knocked the thought out of my mind, and my head was once again filled with cartoon stars before everything went black.

I woke up so sore I couldn't move. Then I realized I couldn't move because my arms were bound together behind my back. I tried to stand, but my ankles were tied to the chair, so I tried to cry out, but couldn't do that, either. Something stuffed in my mouth kept me from making a sound.

The Wolves must have been in the antique store, waiting for me! But why? I thought they trusted me.

Marvin . . . there was something about Marvin I needed to remem­ber. Something I had found out. . .

I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye and turned my head to look. Big mistake. I felt a sharp pain radiat­ing from where I had been hit on the head, and I groaned.

"He's awake," a voice said. It was cold as ice, but it wasn't a voice I expected. It was Marissa. She and Grandma came over to where I sat.

"We had to do this for your own good," Grandma said. "I'm sorry, Red."

I shook my head vigorously, in spite of the pain.

Marvin . . . something important about Marvin. Why cant I remember?

"Really, Red," Grandma went on, "I'm sorry. You're not a Wolf yet, and I won't let them make you one―even if it's what you think you want. Once we get rid of all the Wolves, you'll be out of danger and we'll let you go."

Then I saw the stainless-steel butter knife sitting on the counter, and I remembered everything.

Marvin! He never touched silver! We have no proof that he's not a werewolf―which means he probably is one!

"Mrrrvmmm! Mrrvmmm uh wrrrwrrrff!" It was no use! I tried to spit out the gag so my words would make sense. I hadn't even told them that I had done the job and had set the Wolves up for the trap we were going to spring. We. It wasn't we anymore―I had just been cut out of the whole thing, which meant Marissa and Grandma were going alone. Our chances were bad enough with three―but two?

Frustrated and furious, I shook the ropes that held my arms behind my back, trying to get loose.

"Give it up," said Marissa. "You're not going anywhere."

She looked at me like she hated me. The way Marvin had always looked at me. I stopped struggling and stared at her, try­ing to send her a message with my eyes. Trying to let her know I had something important to tell her.

The message didn't go through. Marissa turned away.

"Come on," Grandma said to her. "We've still got a lot to do, and there's not a whole lot of time left. The moon's just short of rising."

They left me sitting there, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. I could hear them in another part of the shop getting their equipment together. I had to get through to Grandma somehow. I tried to calm down and think. My hands were tied behind me, my ankles were tied to the legs of the chair, but the chair itself wasn't tied down.

I inched forward in the chair, putting all my weight over one of the front legs as I scraped it against the floor. It left a faint, but visible line. I inched the chair back, then forward, then back again, and looked down. Clear as day, I had etched the let­ter M into the wood floor!

While I worked, I could hear Grandma and Marissa talking.

"You have the ammo?" I heard Marissa ask.

"All that's left of it. Fifteen bullets. I'll have to make them count. Good thing you thought of the balloons. Do you have them?"

"Right here," Marissa answered.

I paused for a second. Balloons? What was that about? I kept working on scraping out my message. M...A...R...V...

I had gotten to the first R in werewolf when Grandma came back into the room. She had on a leather jacket, biker pants, and a helmet. Her face and hands were covered with mud, to hide her scent. She looked as far from being my crazy old grandmother as could be.

"We're going now, Red. You'll be safe here." Although wolfs­bane would have been too suspicious a smell for them to have, Grandma did light some wolfsbane incense for me and left it on the counter. "Sit tight and we'll let you go when it's all over." Then she sighed. "And . . . and if we don't make it back .. . well. . . someone will be here in the morning."

I groaned and tilted my head, pointed my toes, and did everything I could to get her to look down at what I had scratched on the floor.

MARVIN WEREW

If she saw it, I knew she'd take the gag out of my mouth to let me explain. I kept looking at her then staring down at the floor, her, then the floor over and over again. Finally I knew I had her attention! She came over to me, and I knew she was going to take the gag out of my mouth!

But I was wrong. She just adjusted it.

I looked at her, and to the floor again, and she misread that gesture of my eyes.

"Feeling ashamed, Red?"

I looked to the floor once more, but she just didn't get it. "I was counting on your help tonight . . . but to go over to the other side?" She backed away. "Maybe you should feel ashamed."

She turned and left without once looking down at the floor. Marissa, also covered with protective leather, was right behind her. She glared at me on her way out.

I could see a tiny bit of the front window from where I was sitting. I could see the sky had turned to night. And at the very edge of the visible piece of window, I could just make out the bright curvature of the full moon. While I was sitting there tied up, it had risen, and somewhere, far off in the distance, I heard the night's first howl.

I had to get out of there!

As I shifted my position to try to get a better sense of how high the moon was in the sky, I saw the stainless-steel butter knife on the counter. Marvin's terrible gift to me. I scraped my chair over to the counter, then used my chin to push the butter knife to the floor. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and tipped over sideways until the chair fell. I tried to take most of the impact with my shoulder, but I still felt a sharp stab of pain in my head, where Marissa had conked me. The world started to go dark, but I struggled to remain conscious.

I scrambled around and felt blindly behind my back until I had the butter knife in my hands.

A butter knife has a dull blade, not the best edge for cutting a rope―but it is a knife. I rubbed the cords holding my wrists together over the butter knife again and again for at least fifteen minutes before I finally felt the bindings starting to give. After a few more minutes I managed to pull my wrists apart.

I rubbed them a few times to get the circulation moving, then untied my feet from the chair legs. Staggering to the door of the shop, I stared out onto the moonlit pavement. I heard another howl, not so far away this time.

Grandma and Marissa were out there somewhere. So were Cedric and the Wolves. A battle to the death.

It was up to me to tip the scales one way or the other. Bring it on.