Perigee [bxb] | Bad Moon Book II

36: {Tisper}; fairytales

an; it's almost midnight and I have to be up super early but I was way too hyped to post this chapter so I hope you like it even though I'm tired and its poop. (4.8k word count)

Wake me before you go.

Tisper heaved her things into the wrangler. A black dufflebag with all her arrows inside, and a change of clothes—just in case.

Wake me before you go. Right.

What was he going to do? Tease her again? Boys like Felix weren't made for girls like Tisper. They didn't know the true weight of their flattery until their words met gravity—and suddenly they were ripping down walls and trees and mountains until the whole world was just a colorless, shapeless thing.

Boys like Felix Cummins shattered universes with their perfect smiles. She was not going to live in the sad, gray place left behind.

"Where the hell's Nicon?" Matt asked. "It's nearly six."

The sun had yet to rise, and the sky was an oil painting of deep fuchsia and the golden glow of a looming morning. Any minute now, the sun would be peaking over the tree tops—just barely breaking the horizon to shine down on Hollywood in ways it didn't shine on the rest of the world.

Tisper checked her pockets for her phone and said, "You almost sound eager to walk into a trash heap of violent killers."

Sadie had been pacing the front porch with a frown for a while now—but her footsteps moved faster when Tisper spoke.

"I don't think this is a good idea, you guys. Can you just... I mean, shouldn't you have weapons?"

"I do," Tisper said. "Besides, our plan isn't to just drop in and start shooting."

"What is the plan?" Jaylin asked, slouched against the side of the Jeep. He was starting to stubble and Tisper hated it. Understandably, Jaylin didn't have it in him to shave, but with the addition of muscles and the tired sleep-stains beneath his eyes, he'd had aged nearly ten years in just a few days. Now his voice grated and dragged, weighed down with cynicism and hopelessness. But occasionally, when they spoke of Andre, it flared with something else.

"The plan was to go," Bailey said, tearing into the sandwich Lisa had sent him off with. Mouth full, he added, "So let's blow this joint."

"Well I know for a fact, they have what they need to murder both of you. Which would kind of be counter-productive," Tisper said. "Sure, Matt and I are soft and squishy, but they're werewolf hunters. Killing humans would be like..."

"Like homicide," Matt said.

"Exactly."

Bailey lowered his sandwich and something about his gaze felt like nails on a chalkboard to Tisper. She didn't know exactly what it was about Bailey's stare, but it cut through her like butter.

"And you think when the police look at a human corpse of a dead werewolf, their first thought is, 'hmm bullet holes. Definitely natural causes.'" Bailey said. "No. When we die, we turn back. Sometimes it takes hours, and sometimes it takes days, but we always turn back."

It was the most Tisper had ever heard Bailey speak at once without throwing down an explicative. She racked her mind for some kind of hard-edged retort, but the coffee hadn't hit her veins yet and nothing came to mind. Besides, he had a point. If wolves always turned back to men, then Andre would have no qualms with slaying a human being.

"So if that's true," Matt said, "how do y'all keep your dead away from the cops?"

Tisper was the one to answer, "Izzy told me that when a werewolf dies, they burn the body. Like a viking funeral."