Chapter 3: Logan
Kate and I are napping, curled up in the back of Nick’s car. We drifted off leaning on our respective doors, but I wake to Kate against my shoulder, my arm around her, as if in sleep we find what we’ve lost.
I keep my eyes half-closed and pretend I’m a kid again, dozing in Mom’s car, smelling leather seats and Kate’s strawberry shampoo, listening to her soft snores underscored by the thump of Nick’s classic rock. I linger there, watching the West Virginia state sign pass as Kate lifts her head, mumbling something that sounds like “Where are the pancakes?” She rubs her eyes, groans and flips over to her own side of the car.
I take out my cell phone to save myself from awkward silence.
Awkward silence with my sister. There’d been a time when I couldn’t imagine such a thing.
“Your mom told you two about the conference cell phone rule?” Nick asks.
“Cell phone rule?” Kate growls.
“Thanks, Elena,” Nick mutters. He glances at us through the mirror. “Your cell phones will be locked up at the conference. You get them back for twenty minutes each evening.”
“What the hell?” Kate shoots upright, seatbelt snapping. “That’s bullshit.” “Yep,” Nick says. “Your mom may have used that exact word. But it’s the rule. So I’d suggest taking a few minutes to post your social media goodbyes.”
Kate doesn’t bother taking out her phone. After dumping her boyfriend, she wiped her social media accounts. My sister is known for her dramatic gestures, and if she’s decided to play lone wolf for a while, I won’t interfere. I just wish her social isolation didn’t extend to me.
As I check my own messages, I see the advantages of my sister’s choice. I have twenty Snapchats alone. Only half are from actual friends. Five are from girls I know by name alone. The first is a brunette I vaguely recognize, asking my opinion of her new bikini. At least she’s wearing clothing. I get plenty of pics where they aren’t.
I don’t date. I don’t have time. That’s my excuse, and I know it’s an excuse because it’s not as if the girls who sext me are looking for a long-term relationship. Somehow, that’s worse. They just want to be the one who lassos the class unicorn. Even those who seem interested in more than a hook-up don’t chase me because they like me. They just like what they see.
I delete all those messages unseen. Then up pops one that’s equally unwelcome.
Hey, Lo. Any chance of setting up that ‘accidental encounter’ with Kate? LMK.
Brandon. Kate’s ex.
He’s calling me Lo to be chummy, knowing only Kate uses that, but the bigger problem is him asking me to play mediator. I don’t know why Kate dumped Brandon. It’s none of my business, and I don’t appreciate him playing on our sorta-friendship to win her back. Every time he does, I get a little more annoyed with my sister.
I text Brandon a variation on the “family stuff, going offline” story. Nick takes an exit ramp and within minutes we’re rumbling along a dirt road into the forest. A few miles later Nick slows the car and squints at a sign with lettering worn and weathered to illegibility.
“Please don’t tell me that’s the camp,” Kate says.
We follow her finger to the forest. It’s all forest here, trees looming over the narrow dirt road. I shift and squint until I can make out a ramshackle cottage that looks as if a thunderstorm would flatten it.
“Yep, this is the place,” Nick says, putting the car in Park.
“What?” Kate squawks. “Hell, no. If you think for one second—” She catches Nick’s smile and scowls. “Ha-ha.”
“I was told to park here and call. The camp must be nearby but . . .” He scans the forest. “Maybe that’s not the right signpost.”
“Call anyway,” Kate says as she opens her door. “I need to stretch my legs, and I want to check out that cabin.”
“The one you just complained about?” Nick says.
“I’d complain if I had to sleep in it. Exploring it is a whole other thing.” She climbs out, and I reach for my door handle, waiting for the inevitable,
“Come on, Lo.” Instead, she jogs into the forest without a backward glance. I used to follow. She’d get in her moods, and I’d go after her, standing
between Kate and the world—interpreter, mediator, buffer. But a moat stretches between us these days, and I can’t seem to build a bridge. I’m not even sure I try.
That isn’t like me at all. I’m the calm one, the logical one, the easygoing one. Or I used to be. These days, there’s the me I used to be, the me I’m becoming, and the me that others see, and none of them are who I want to be, and I’m not even sure who that is.
As Nick places his call, I get out and inhale the sharp tang of pine. I roll my shoulders, working out the kinks. I sniff again, and my legs ache to run, even in human form. Just run into the forest and forget what I’m supposed to be doing here. Which also isn’t like me at all. I’m nothing if not responsible. Boring, responsible Logan Danvers.
Maybe that’s why Kate seems to prefer her own company these days.
A click as Nick pops open the trunk. As we walk to the back, he says,
“The head counselor is meeting us here and walking you over.”
I reach in for my bag, but he stops me, glancing at where Kate disappeared.
“You guys okay?” he asks.
I shrug. “She’s not happy about being here, which means I need to listen to her bitch about it for the next week. Situation normal these days.”
Nick frowns, and he shoots me this look that makes me feel like I’m five, caught doing something I shouldn’t. Except when I was five, I never did anything I shouldn’t, not unless Kate talked me into it.
“Your sister has been having a difficult time lately,” Nick says. “Maybe you could be a little more understanding?”
I replay my words and wince as I realize I sounded like an asshole.
Part of me wants to admit he’s right . . . and part of me wants to snap back that she’s not the only one having a “difficult time,” and maybe she could be more understanding. Which tips me right into asshole-hood again.
Before I can speak, my phone buzzes. It’s Brandon, asking if he can come over, my “going offline” message having sailed right over his head.
“That’s not Kate’s Brandon, is it?” Nick says, unable to miss the message on my screen.
“Yeah.” I thumb the text away.
“You two are still hanging out after what he did to your sister?” “What?”
“Mr. Sorrentino?” a woman’s voice trills.
Nick turns, and the woman stops with a little “Oh.” The woman is maybe thirty, wearing shorts, a Team Half-Demon T-shirt and a goofy smile as she stares at Nick.
Nick shakes the young woman’s hand and says, “Nick, please,” and then waits. The woman just keeps ogling.
“Logan Danvers,” I say.
She turns then, finally noticing me, and her smile—thankfully—changes to one of regular greeting.
“Tricia MacNab,” she says.
“Team Half-Demon, I see.” Nick gives her an easy grin. There’s zero flirtation in it, but she still perks up.
“It’s for orientation. All the kids and counselors get one as a fun way to introduce ourselves and our types. And then after that, the shirts go away as we work on forgetting our differences.”
“Forgetting them after you establish them?” I murmur, low enough that only Nick hears, and his lips quirk in a smile. Louder, I say, “I understand that you only found out we were coming this morning, so I know you won’t have Team Werewolf shirts.”
Please tell me you don’t have Team Werewolf shirts.
Her smile quivers. Then she says with a nervous laugh, “No, we don’t. But that’s why I came to meet you here. We’d like . . . At least at first . . . I think it’s best if we don’t announce what you and your sister are.”
I frown. “But we’re here as the werewolf delegates.”
“To help prove we’re not all the big bad wolf,” Nick says.
Tricia giggles, a little too high-pitched. “Oh, I know you aren’t. But we’re concerned it’s a liability issue when we couldn’t warn—I mean, tell—parents that there would be werewolves. You two will be our mystery campers as an exercise to prove labels don’t matter. Once everyone’s comfortable with you, we’ll have the big reveal.”
This makes no sense. If it’s a liability issue—which is really insulting— then revealing it later might only make that worse. Hiding everyone’s type would be the true exercise in breaking down barriers.
“Isn’t someone going to figure it out?” I say. “This is a leadership conference. The other campers will know a thing or two about supernatural politics. Introduce them to twins named Kate and Logan, race unknown, and someone is bound to realize who we are.”
Tricia waves off my logic with, “These are teens. They won’t know werewolf politics. Hardly any adult supernaturals do.” Nick and I exchange a look.
“Did Paige approve this?” Nick asks.
Tricia stammers a non-answer about Paige not being directly involved in the day-to-day running of the camp. The day that Paige Winterbourne isn’t directly involved in something is the day my sister voluntarily wears a Team Werewolf shirt.
According to Mom, Paige is coming tomorrow. Until then, I’ll fend off Kate’s outrage by pointing out the alternative—that we’d need to design our own Team Werewolf shirts, probably with glitter pens.
As Nick talks to Tricia, I offer to fetch Kate, giving me a chance to warn her. Nick nods, and I take off, jogging toward the dilapidated cabin. There’s no driveway leading from the road. No path either as I have to cut through thick bush.
After meeting Tricia, my hopes for this conference might be in free fall, but at least we get this forest—endless and empty wilderness, with the Appalachians rising in the distance. Kate and I will have a blast here, exploring new terrain, Changing and running and hunting. Maybe this is what we need, a chance for the two of us to hang out together doing something we both love.
I remember what Nick said about Brandon. Did Kate talk to Nick about the breakup?
No, he must be just taking her side, presuming Brandon did something wrong. If Brandon hurt Kate, she’d tell me. I’d notice, too, right? We’re twins. We can barely stub a toe without the other feeling it. If Kate was hurting . . .
If Kate was hurting, she’d withdraw. She’d go quiet and keep to herself, which is exactly what she’s been—
The crackle of brush stops me midthought. I glance up, expecting to see Kate. Instead, I’m staring at a stranger, a guy who looks like a high-school senior. Roughly my height and my build, athletic and lean muscled. Dark skin. Hair styled in short locs.
He doesn’t see me. He’s poised in the forest, staring straight ahead, and his profile prods a ping of recognition, as if I know him. Except I don’t.
I inhale deeply, but he’s downwind, and the more I look at him, the more certain I am that I’ve never seen him before. It’s just a weird sense of déjà vu.
That crackle I heard was the guy stepping from the forest’s edge. Then he saw my sister and withdrew. Now he’s watching her.
Kate doesn’t notice him. She’s crouched looking at something with her back to the newcomer.
He stands there, staring at Kate. That’s nothing new. In the last few years, Kate has been approached by a half-dozen modeling scouts. She’s tall and slender with blue eyes and long blond hair, the kind of girl who gets attention even as her old T-shirts, faded jeans and ratty sneakers insist she doesn’t want it.
Except the look this guy’s giving her is different. It’s surprise and something like disbelief. I don’t know what this look means, but my hackles rise and a growl tickles my throat. He should say something. Let her know he’s there. You don’t hide in the shadows, watching a girl who’s alone in the forest.
I ease back and creep up behind him. I lose sight of the guy in the thick forest, but I know exactly where he is. I listen, in case he decides to retreat, but the forest stays silent.
As I draw near the spot, I pause and take a deep breath. Then I realize my fists are clenched and give my hands a shake. None of that. I’m just here to show him what it’s like to have a stranger sneak up on you.
I pause, preparing. Then I step through with, “What the hell do you think you’re—?”
I stop.
The guy is gone.