It was dark outside when I finally woke up. I couldn't see anything out the window other than the shadowed shapes of trees towering around us as they zoomed past. My head pounded with a slight hangover, and the stale taste of vodka clung to my tongue like the memory I'd recalled right before I'd fallen asleep. Tears stung behind my eyes. I tried to push it out of my mind.

Sitting up, I took in the dark, empty interior of the bus. I blinked a few times and rubbed my eyes. How long was I out? Where was everyone?

The bus slowed as we turned off the road. We pulled into an empty parking lot, gravel crunching under the tires.

"Where are we?" I asked no one in particular. My voice came out rough and hoarse.

"South Dakota." Jake startled me as he came through the door at the front of the bus. He grabbed his hoodie off the bench next to me and pulled it over his head. "Just a small trailhead where we can park and camp for the night." He fixed his beanie, looking me up and down. His eyes landed on the empty red plastic cup in my hands, but he didn't say anything about it.

"Where are you going?" I asked as he headed towards the door.

"Just stepping outside. You should get some air, too. A chance to stretch your legs will do you good."

I nodded as he hopped out of the bus. After shaking away the last of my headache, I slunk out after him. The crisp, night air hit me like a wave. I pulled a huge breath into my lungs. The cold stung my throat, but it was refreshing.

"I wish we could stay at a hotel," Veronica whined to Reggie as they got off behind me. "I hate sleeping on the bus."

"You know we can't use our credit cards while we're out here, babe," Reggie said. "We don't want to leave any traces of where we are. I told you that."

I sighed, pacing down the dark trail to get some space. A light dusting of snow crinkled under my feet and echoed through the frozen night. Limbs of barren trees rustled in the wind, clawing towards the sky where the Milky Way glowed next to a nearly full moon. A halo of icy crystals surrounded it, reminding me it was going to snow soon.

"Hey," a voice called behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder to see Alex jogging up the path to meet me. His breath was mist in front of him in the cold air.

"This is yours." He held out my phone to me.

Hesitantly, I took it from him. "Thanks." I'd nearly forgotten that Liz had never given it back after she'd taken it for their call with Trev.

"Just don't use it to tell anyone what's going on." He ran his hand back through his dark hair, pushing it out of his face. "And if you get a call from a number you don't recognize, don't answer it." He forced a smile, but I didn't return it.

Instead, my mind went back to the calls from the cops. The voicemail. That must have been what he was talking about.

I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms. "If you don't want me answering my phone or calling anyone, why even bother giving it back to me?" My tone came out harsher than I'd intended.

"Because," he began, pausing as an icy blast of wind roared through the forest. We both shielded our faces against the burning cold. When the wind died back down to a dull moan, he met my eyes. "I trust you."

I chewed on the inside of my cheek as my stomach turned over. I nodded, sliding the phone into my pocket. I couldn't hold eye contact with him anymore, so I turned and continued walking down the path.

Alex fell into stride next to me, and we walked silently together for a minute. My gaze went to his wrist where he'd wrapped a bandage around the gash I'd given him. In the dim light of the moon and stars, the dark stains of blood seeping through were just visible. He'd changed shirts, so I couldn't see how bad the scratches across his side were.

I bit down on my lip and looked out into the forest. "I'm sorry." I finally said. "I'm sorry that I hurt you."

"It's okay," he replied. "You don't have to be sorry about it. It wasn't your fault."

"It was my idea for you to try that. I made you do it."

"It was a good idea, Allison. I just should have been more careful." He gazed off to the side of the path, putting his hands in the pockets of his ripped jeans as he shivered. "It's fucking freezing out. How are you not cold?"

"You know I never get cold." I forced a smile.

Alex smiled back, but a pained sadness glinted in his eyes. "I know."

I felt a tear slide down my cheek, but I ignored it, hoping he wouldn't see with how dark it was.

"What did you, Jake and Liz say on the phone when you were talking to Trev?" I asked. "What did you tell them about what happened to . . ." My voice trailed off.

Alex let out a sigh, his breath condensing in front of him like icy steam. "We didn't say anything about what happened. They said we needed to call the detectives. That we needed to go back to Minneapolis. I told them we were on our way. Then, we called the cops and passed the same message along."

"Wait." I stopped in my tracks. "What about Montana? Liz said there was a place there that might help me. I thought—"

"We aren't actually going back to Minneapolis," he cut me off before I could finish. "Or, at least not now. I told them we're going to stop for the night to sleep and then head back in the morning." He paused for a second and smiled. "We'll probably run into some bus troubles tomorrow." He winked at me. "Maybe a flat tire or a shot transmission. Doubt we'll be able to make it. Might take a day or two to get it fixed."

"So we're still going to Montana?"

"That's the plan. We should be able to get there by tomorrow evening. Just in time."

"In time for what?" I lowered my voice to a hushed whisper. "Where exactly in Montana are we going, Alex? What did Liz mean when she said there was a place there that could help me?"

Alex let out a heavy sigh, glancing towards the bus before looking back to me. "Montana is where the curse started. It's the origin point."

"Okay," I said slowly, raising an eyebrow.

"You know how everyone has a soul? Well, some places have one, too. Some places are haunted."

A chill rushed over me as a gust of wind rippled through the forest.

Growing up, I'd always believed in the existence of ghosts. As kids, Carolyn and I had pretended to hunt for them for fun. We'd go up in her attic when we had sleepovers and play with the Ouija board until the early hours of the morning, listening to the whistling of the old radiator heater and ghosts banging on the pipes in the basement.

It was all pretend play, but the idea of an afterlife held a draw to me. Maybe it had something to do with my parents supposed passing when I was twelve, or maybe it just had to do with the culture of the area where I grew up. Along the coast of New Jersey, belief in the supernatural was second nature, and everyone had a ghost story to tell.

"The spirit of the woods is where the curse originated," Alex continued. "The forest there is its own entity—a collective conscious of everything that has ever lived and existed there, manifesting itself as a spirit haunting the land. It has a vengeance, and the power to affect the living."

Howling echoed through the woods in the distance. A cloud passed over the moon, and the entire night darkened.

"When our original human selves first invaded the territory of the wolves, the wolves retaliated and attacked. The spirit of the earth became enraged by the bloodshed, and it cursed us to live together as one—man and animal, human and wolf—forced to settle our differences and learn to work together instead of fight against each other." He blinked, and for a second, his eyes flashed from icy blue to vermilion. "That was how it began. That was when the curse was cast."

I pinched my eyes closed, trying to take it all in. "So, you think going there might help me communicate with my wolf?"

"Being closer to the source couldn't hurt." Alex smiled, but his eyes hid something dark and somber behind them. I couldn't help but get the feeling that there was something else he wasn't letting on.

But, what other choice did I have? This . . . thing . . . was getting worse exponentially. Within the past day, I'd shifted two—almost three—times. I'd already killed one person and injured a second. I shuddered. Who knew what would happen the next time I changed?

This was my best bet. It was the only option I had. My hand found its way to the pocket of my jean shorts, and I fidgeted with the ridged top of the lucky plastic hand grenade Liz had given me. I needed all the luck I could get right now.

"Okay, I'm down," I finally said with a nod. "I'll do whatever it takes."

| | |

The fire crackled in the center of our campground, hissing and spitting embers into the cold air. All six of us sat around it, an apprehensive silence lingering in the air, like no one knew what to say.

Jake sat next to me, poking at the smoldering coals with a stick. He took a long sip of his beer before setting it down on the dirt beside him. Across the fire, Reggie sat with Veronica in his lap. She leaned back against his chest as the flames bathed their faces in warm, red hues.

Liz and Alex sat close enough to each other that their shoulders touched. She had one arm wrapped around his waist, and her head rested against him, eyes closed. His eyes flicked to meet mine for a second before they were drawn back to the dancing flames.

One thing he told to me on our walk rang through my head: I trust you.

It left me with a lump in my throat. All of them took a huge risk to help me after what happened with Blake. They had every reason not to, but yet, they did.

Alex trusted me. They all trusted me.

Why couldn't I do the same with them?

I watched Alex and Liz as the flames cast shadows across their faces. He looked at her like he loved her. It was a look I remembered my father giving my mother when I was a child. When they were still alive.

A pang shot through my heart as I thought about the day I found out they were gone—the day my whole world was ripped out from under me. The police came to Aunt Cathy's door early that Saturday morning. I still remembered the three heavy knocks while we were making pancakes.

They told us about the fire.

Her sister was dead. Both my parents were dead.

I pinched my eyes to keep the tears from streaming out. What would my life had been like if they hadn't died? What would I be like?

I couldn't think about it—it was too painful. I forced the thoughts away, instead letting myself drift back to a memory from a happier time. I rarely thought about the early years of my childhood because it seemed like a different part of my life—almost like I was a different person then. But right now, I couldn't stop myself.

I turned the knob on the door to the basement studio, trying not to make too much noise. The familiar smell of funny smoke drifted around the room as I climbed down the stairs. I paused when I reached the bottom, hanging on the banister.

Mom and Dad's band used this room for practice. Sometimes, they recorded music here, too. All the walls were painted black and padded for sound proofing. Mom didn't like me coming down here because there were things that were breakable and other things that were "not for kids."

Dad sat on the couch by himself with his guitar in his lap. On the coffee table in front of him, what looked like a handmade cigarette lay in the ash tray, still smoking. He strummed notes and chords, singing quietly to himself as he played.

"What song is that?" I asked.

The music immediately stopped, and he turned to look at me. His blue eyes were bloodshot and tired.

"I haven't heard it before," I said.

"What are you doing up, Allison?" He leaned forward and put out the cigarette, setting it back down in the ash tray once it stopped smoking. "It's two in the morning."

"I can't sleep." I leaned forward onto my toes and then rocked back to my heels. "Why are you still up?"

He smiled lightly at me. "I can't sleep either."

"Why not?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said.

"What song were you playing?" I asked again. "Can you sing it for me?"

"I can't." He set his acoustic guitar down on the side of the couch next to him. "I'm still working on writing it. It's not finished yet."

"But why isn't it finished yet?"

He was quiet for a minute. "Come over here," he finally said, holding out his arm to me.

I trotted across the basement to the couch, my tiny bare feet padding over the cool, polished concrete floor. When I reached him, he scooped me up and plopped me down on the couch next to him.

"Maybe you can help me finish it." He picked his guitar up and put it across both of our laps. "Hold your hand like this, and then follow my lead." He placed my hand on the neck of the guitar and then placed his on top of mine. We played through the song slowly, him strumming the strings while I followed his fingers to play the notes.

He sang to me quietly while we played. I didn't know what the words were about, but they sounded sad. When we reached the end of what he had written, we stopped playing. Behind us, I heard clapping.

"It sounds beautiful." Mom stood at the bottom of the stairs, leaning back against the wall.

"How long have you been watching us?" Dad asked.

"Long enough," she said with a soft smile. She wiped at her eyes. "How long have you been working on that song, Chris? I haven't heard it before."

"A couple of weeks," he said. "I didn't want to play it for you until it was ready. What are you doing up in the middle of the night, Emily?"

"I couldn't sleep," she said.

"Neither could we," I said.

Mom remained at the bottom of the stairs, watching us like she was worried about interrupting something.

"Can we watch a movie together?" I finally asked.

"I'd like that, Allison." Mom smiled. "I'll make some popcorn."

The sound of the fire hissing and spitting like popcorn in a microwave pulled me back to the present. The flames shot up, devouring the grease dripping from the hot dogs Jake was roasting over it.

"You want one, Allison?" he asked.

"Huh?"

My stomach grumbled, as if on cue. Without even waiting for a response, Jake pulled a hot dog out of the fire, placed it in a bun, and handed it to me.

"Thanks," I said quietly as I took it from him.

After taking a few bites, my appetite died, and I picked at the stale, crumbling bun. A gloop of grease oozed out, plopping onto my leg and congealing like blood. My stomach turned, and I set the unappetizing meal down, scooting it away with my foot. I hadn't eaten all day, but suddenly, I'd lost my appetite.

Jake watched me, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he picked up his acoustic guitar and strummed a few chords. The progression was familiar, but the way he played it sounded strange and eerie.

Finally, he plucked out the opening notes to The Eagle's "Hotel California." The tune echoed with a haunting key through the night as he strummed the chords. He began to hum along, and as his gaze landed on me, a chill danced down my spine.

When he reached the point where the vocals came in, he nodded to me. Without even thinking, the lyrics flowed out of my lungs. I sung them lowly, so quietly maybe only myself and Jake heard them. But, as the song went on and his fingers traveled across the notes, our volume grew, and he picked up the tempo. Jake's guitar and my voice echoed through the night together, like a pair of wounded wolves howling in harmony.

A light, euphoric feeling swelled in my chest as I sang out the chorus. Singing was what made me the happiest. It gave me a rush—a natural and pure high I couldn't get from anything else.

I'd always loved classic rock, ever since I was a kid. The songs everyone knew all the lyrics to—the ones where everyone could sing along—there was something special about them. They stood the test of time because those were the songs that really spoke to us. The ones that make you feel something—joy, nostalgia, loss, love.

Music moved people. It connected us. It was immortal because it lived on through the minds and souls of others. It became a part of them, and by doing so, it became infinite. Becoming a rock star was the closest I could get to that—the closest I could get to infinity.

Jake reached the guitar break. His fingers danced over the strings. I nodded along, listening to the music as I caught my breath from the final lines of the song.

I glanced at Reggie and Veronica. They'd cuddled up to each other even closer as they listened. A gentle smile rested on Veronica's lips as Reggie kissed her on her cheek.

My gaze traveled to Liz and Alex. Liz smiled at me calmly. Alex held a cigarette in one hand that had all but burnt out. He took one last drag before killing it in the dirt in front of him. Finally, as the song ended and Jake strummed out the final notes, Alex turned his gaze up to meet mine.

An unnerving chill ran over me. His cold blue eyes pierced through me with the same dark sadness they'd held on our walk earlier that evening, but in the flicker of the fire, they glowed red. A threat. A warning. Without breaking eye contact, he picked up his beer from the ground and took a swig.

What had Alex heard when he'd tried to read my mind? Had he really heard nothing, or was there something he was keeping from me?

I shuddered and took a sip of my own drink, finishing off the can.

Clouds blew in from beyond the horizon, streaming across the nearly full moon and making it shimmer as Jake began to strum the opening notes to a new song.

After he'd played the first chord progression, I felt a grin sneak over me.

Across the fire, Alex chuckled, shaking his head at Jake. "No," he mouthed the word.

Jake just nodded to him and repeated the lead in to "Bad Moon Rising."

This time, when the first verse to Jake's song came in, Alex joined, singing the lyrics. Jake grinned, laughing lowly to himself as they played through the first verse together.

When the next verse came in, I joined in the harmony.

By the time we reached the end, Jake had picked up the song to full tempo, and we were all singing along.

As the final notes drifted through the night, dark shadows shifted through the surrounding forest.

Jake set his guitar down, leaving the campground silent except for the crackling and popping of the dying fire. A gust of wind rushed through the forest, and the trees moaned and creaked. The fire shuddered, casting shadows like wolves creeping through the tall pines.

"We should get some sleep," Jake finally broke the stagnant silence. "It's late, and we have an early morning ahead of us."

Slowly, everyone pushed themselves to their feet, making their way back onto the bus. Jake held out his hand, helping me up. "Go ahead," he said. "I'm going to put out the fire."

As the others climbed onto the bus ahead of me, the ease and comfort that had overcome me while we were singing ebbed away, leaving a hollow emptiness in its wake. These people were a pack. They were a family.

I wished I could be a part of something like that.