But Ididfind the strength. I broke through Philippa’s compulsion. Could I do it again? Am I a coward who only manages a few trembling moments of courage, or am I a brave person who occasionally gives in to fear?
What am I so afraid of?
I bound up a flight of steps and put my nose to the crack of the door. There’s fresh air beyond, and the scent of my sister’s blood.
When Christine reaches past me to open the door, I pace cautiously onto the rooftop. The area before me is bathed in sickly yellow light from a couple of cloudy exterior lamps, probably illuminated at night to keep vandals away from the abandoned building. Sections of the rooftop are shadowed, inky black voids in which anything might be hiding. The air has the cracked cold of late October, a few hours after midnight.
The sharpness of that cold air confuses my sense of smell for a moment. Philippa is out here, but I can’t pinpoint her location.
A battering ram of fur and jaws crashes against my shoulder. I skid to the side, howling with pain. Philippa clambers over me in an attempt to pin me down, but I thrash, trying to keep her from sinking her teeth into my flesh. If she gets a good grip, she’ll slam me against the concrete again. It’s her signature move when fighting in this form.
I’ve had no training in either of my forms. My father wouldn’t let me learn martial arts, and my wolf form is too new. All I can do is kick, bite, and wriggle away as my sister tries to secure a throat hold.
But I’m not alone in this fight. Christine dives into the fray, careless of injury to herself, fangs bared, voicing a hissing scream that startles even me. Philippa is thrown off guard for a second, and Christine slashes at her with razor claws, aiming to cut my sister’s throat.
But Philippa rears backward just in time. She twists, springsaway, and lands on her feet, braced and ready, her head lowered. Her white fur looks yellow in the hideous light.
Christine faces off against her. “I can’t let you live. You know that.”
A growl ripples from Philippa’s throat.
It’s always been strange to me, seeing her like this. In human form, she is so composed, so crisp and controlled, every hair in place. Yet in wolf form, she is violence incarnate. Two personalities. Or perhaps one is merely a mask for the other.
I circle Philippa, working my way behind her. She eyes me but continues facing Christine, whom she apparently considers the real threat. Perhaps she’s right. I’m not sure I’m on board with Christine’s plan to kill Philippa. I should be, after what Philippa made me do. What is this fucking hold my family has on my psyche, even after everything they’ve done to show me they’renotworthy of my love or loyalty? Why can’t I incinerate the bridge entirely so I can’t even think about crossing it again?
I was strong enough to send Philippa that email, breaking my ties with the Collective. And I was strong enough to fling the ax at my sister instead of chopping off Christine’s head. In that moment, I trulywantedto kill Philippa. I simply need to summon that anger again, because now Christine is the one hesitating.
I can see the torment on her face. She’s a mess—ripped dress, wild hair, makeup in ruins—but her beauty is more powerful than any of it. It’s the striking beauty of the girl from middle school, the avenging angel with a heart full of so much kindness the world couldn’t suck it all out of her, though it has tried to drain her dry.
Christine might have killed people, but she isn’t a murderer, and my sister realizes it the same moment I do.
Philippa rockets forward at a speed impossible for any normal wolf. Christine’s vampiric reflexes should save her, but she’s weary,still healing. She dodges, but not far enough. Philippa’s teeth seize her shoulder instead of her throat.
My sister’s weight knocks Christine over. She rips her teeth free of Christine’s shoulder and goes in for the throat hold.
A cry of agony wrenches out of Christine. She plunges all her claws into the white wolf’s body, but Philippa hangs on, determined as a bulldog, grinding deeper every second.
I’m already leaping in, jaws wide. I clamp down on the back of Philippa’s neck and chew into the hide and muscle with all my might, but she’s not letting go. My sister bucks upward and rams Christine down. Christine’s skull hits the concrete with a sickening thud. I swear I hear bone crack.
I clamp my jaws around Philippa’s back leg and wrench backward with violent jerks until I hear the hip joint pop. Philippa whines through her mouthful of Christine’s neck, but she still won’t let go.
Fuck you, I sob inwardly.Fuck you for everything.
And with all my strength, I pull.
Fur and flesh rip, and I’m left holding my sister’s back right leg between my teeth.
Philippa howls, a murderous, bloodcurdling shriek to the blurred half-moon.
I don’t give her a moment to recover. I leap onto her, pinning her in place. Finding my own throat hold. Grasping the tender flesh beneath her muzzle, clamping my jaws in place, crushing ever deeper.
All I can think about is that my father was also a white wolf. The color of the moon, he said. A reflection of light.
He would have been disappointed that my wolf is the color of darkness. But what else would it be after he gave me to the dark over and over for so many years?
And the darkness welcomed me, nurtured me. I’m not afraid of it now.
Philippa goes limp beneath me, but I hold on. I taste her blood, feel it cooling in my mouth, and still I hold until I’m sure. Until her body transforms beneath me into human shape, and I know it’s done.
