Once in a Full Moon (Full Moon #1) 0

As I reached the reception desk of Pine Tree Village, Mr. Worthington caught sight of me. He was standing in the lobby next to a grand piano.

"Celeste. It always warms my heart to see you," he said, his fingers tinkling on the keys. "What is new with you?"

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you," I said seriously.

"I've heard a lot in my time, young lady. Nothing would surprise me."

I knew if I told Mr. Worthington my recent events, he might have a coronary right there and then. I couldn't be responsible.

"Are you referring to the wolves showing up at your school?" he asked.

"Did you hear about them?" I'd almost forgotten.

"It's all anyone is talking about. Please. I'd love to hear an eyewitness account."

"It was so strange. They were outside my classroom. Beautiful, with fluffy gray-and-white fur. If they weren't so dangerous, I would have taken one home with me."

"Well, their bite is much worse than their bark," he said.

I cracked a smile.

"It is odd for wolves to come so close to the human population," he said.

"That's what I've heard."

"It must have been because of the full moon," he said mysteriously.

Just then a nurse came up to him. "It's time for your meds," she said.

I followed Mr. Worthington back to his room. He had tons of pictures and mementos hung on the walls and placed around tables and shelves to remind him of his accomplishments and family.

He took the colorful pills the nurse handed him, and she left us to continue our conversation.

"So are you back to hear more about the Legend's Run Werewolf?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "Last time I came you said you were only at the beginning of your story."

"Come, sit down," he said, pointing to an antique chair.

"This is my great-grandfather," he added, showing me a worn black-and-white portrait of a man. "Some say he was mentally ill. Others say he was cursed. His wife swore otherwise."

I was surprised at Mr. Worthington's candor and was enraptured by his biography.

"My great-grandfather was building his house  -  it was over in the western part of town by the river  -  when a pack of wolves came after his baby, sleeping in a bassinet by the lumber pile. That baby was my father."

I was riveted by his story and I nodded, hoping he'd continue.

"By the time he caught sight of the pack, one wolf already had the basket in its mouth, ready to carry it back to its den.

"As his wife cried out, he fought like mad, desperate to save his son. The boy, still cradled in the basket, was unharmed, but my great-grandfather was almost killed. Bloody and on the brink of death, he lay under a shade tree as his wife ran for help. The local chieftain came to his aid and attended to him. When the chieftain finally left, he told my family my great-grandfather would live but the wolf was now inside him  -  in his blood.

"But no one knew what the chieftain meant at the time. Apparently my great-grandfather was never the same."

It was just like Brandon. Suddenly I was dying to tell Mr. Worthington my tale of the Legend's Run Werewolf. But he wasn't finished with his story, and I wasn't sure it was wise to tell Brandon's secret.

"It started with a full moon and continued for three days. He roamed the woods alone. When he was spotted by hunters he was mistaken for a wolf."

Mr. Worthington showed me more pictures. Many were black-and-white photos. Others were in color but worn. Then he showed me an old family portrait. "This is his wife and my father," he said. Then he handed me a black-and-white baby picture. "And this is yours truly."

"Ah... You were so cute!" I said.

"And this is my wife, my son, Harry, and his daughter, Claire," he said, pointing to still more photos. "She's something of a wild child. Always was. Couldn't be kept down by conventional traditions. She married a man, here in Legend's Run, and had a child. As soon as the child was born, she disappeared. She ran off to a commune and we lost contact with her many years ago. I always told my wife it was the wolf in her blood."

"Your great-grandfather was the Legend's Run Werewolf," I said. "Now, that is a great story!"

I couldn't shake from my mind the tale Mr. Worthington had shared with me. It might have been because he'd had too much time on his hands or he, like in the traditions of folklore that were the subject of my essay, was passing down the town's legend. I'm sure everyone in town had a similar anecdote  -  people grasping onto the idea of something mysterious existing to keep the town exciting.

Just a few weeks ago it would have shocked me that someone as wise and rational as Mr. Worthington would latch on to something so extraordinary and believe it was true. It wasn't the kind of story in which you say that your family's ancestors are royalty. Mr. Worthington wasn't trying to convince me that he was kin to a king but rather that he was related to a werewolf.

I wouldn't have believed it for a minute if I hadn't fallen in love with a werewolf myself.

I returned home and wolfed down my lunch. It was always good to get some home time on a weekend, but I was bursting to tell Brandon about my encounter with Mr. Worthington. He might laugh it off or find comfort knowing someone I knew insisted that they, too, believed in werewolves. When I headed out the back door, I found someone waiting for me in the driveway. It was Nash.

This was the first time we'd been alone in weeks.

"You canceled the other night," Nash said. "We all were going to the mall. I had to watch Abby and Ivy shop for two hours. What gives?"

It was clear Nash was feeling lonely.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry? Volunteering again?"

"No, I already did that."

"Then what's up?" he asked.

"Just errands."

"Why are you wearing those atrocious gloves? Seems to me you're copying someone else's style."

"They make fingerless gloves, you know, because people wear them."

"People, yes, but you?"

"You're overthinking it," I replied defensively. But was he really? I was wearing them for the exact reason Nash thought I was  -  to be like Brandon. I couldn't admit it to him, or anyone else. It was best to deflect the attention I was bringing to myself and Brandon.

"So, is it love?" Nash asked.

"What do you mean?" I was startled by his directness.

"Are you in love?"

"What are you talking about? In love with whom?"

He took my hand.

"I'd like us to get back together." He took my other hand and pulled me close. "You want me to pay attention to you. I get that. So I will."

I liked Nash. He was handsome and popular and had moments of being a great boyfriend. Before we'd begun dating, I'd had a crush on him since I could remember. Every girl did. But as gorgeous and athletic as he was, we ultimately had different values and goals. And I was in love with another guy.

"I don't think we should keep seeing each other," I said. "We want different things."

Nash dropped my hands in disgust. He paused, his face flushed red.

"You'll see," he said. "You'll be begging to go back out with me. You mark my words."

My ex-boyfriend hopped in his car and sped off into the distance.

I still wanted to tell Brandon about Mr. Worthington's remarks. The only thing on my mind was being in his arms. But I arrived at his house to find him holding something else  -  groceries.

He was helping a woman get produce out of her hatchback.

Brandon hurried over to me carrying several bags.

"Hey, Celeste," he said.

"Hi. Did I come over at a bad time?"

"No, I'm just helping out. I'd like you to meet someone."

I followed Brandon to the car. A very stately woman with perfectly styled brown hair greeted me with a smile that looked remarkably like Brandon's.

"Grandma, this is Celeste."

"Hi, Celeste. It is wonderful to meet you."

"You, too, Mrs. Maddox."

"You can call me Barb," she continued sweetly. "I am so happy Brandon has a friend," she said as if she was taking me under her wing. "I worried so when he moved here after school had already begun. Well, I am so happy to know why he's been keeping to himself and acting so..." She rolled her eyes. "Now I know why he's been behaving so strangely," she said, winking at me. "Would you like to come in for hot chocolate and cake?"

I looked to Brandon for an answer.

"We have to study, Gram. But thanks."

"Perhaps another time," she said, walking up the back stairs.

"Yes, I'd love to," I said.

"I'll only be a minute." Brandon followed his grandmother with the groceries and met me inside his guesthouse.

"She is so cute!" I said. "I love her."

"She is sweet, but she can be a bit..."

"Grandmotherish?"

"Exactly."

"Is it lonely back here, with your grandparents in the main house?"

"Not now," he said, engulfing me in his strong embrace.

We settled in his guesthouse for a quiet afternoon. We talked a little about my research into werewolf folklore and how I wondered if there could possibly be a cure that wasn't a silver bullet. I mentioned meeting Dr. Meadows again, but Brandon still wasn't sure he wanted to reveal his secret. While Brandon spent some time researching werewolves on his computer, I leafed through the books he had on his shelf. I saw a vintage Hardy Boys and pulled it out. Pictures were stuffed inside. I examined the first one.

I was stunned. Staring back at me was the same picture Mr. Worthington had in his room. I turned the picture over and inscribed in pencil was the name Claire Worthington.

I was afraid to speak.

"Who is this woman?" I asked.

Brandon turned to me. "She's my mother."

I gasped.

"What?" he asked. "It's like you've just seen a ghost."

"I just..." I began.

"I haven't seen her since I was a kid," he said. "I was raised by my father."

"Brandon, I've seen this picture before."

"What? You couldn't have. Where, here?"

"I know this man at the retirement community. He's so kind, and a gentleman. We spend a lot of time talking, and recently he told me the story of his great-grandfather, who was bitten by a wolf."

"That's weird."

"He said that his great-grandfather was never the same."

"Sounds familiar."

"This man I know, his name is Charles Worthington. Do you know him?"

"No."

"He has a granddaughter. Her name is Claire Worthington."

"That must be a coincidence."

"You told me your mother's family moved away."

"Yes," he said.

"Well, no one told you that one of them moved back."

Brandon was trying to process this new information.

"It's more than coincidence, Brandon. My friend Mr. Worthington is your great-grandfather!"