“Morning,” I said, forcing a smile. I poured
myself a bowl of cereal and sat down at the table.
“By the way, did you hear anything last
night?” she asked, without looking up from
her tablet. “Your brother didn’t lock the can-
isters, and some animal made a huge mess of
the garbage.”MAGNUS CAME OVER that afternoon.
I was sitting by the stream in our backyard when
he plopped down beside me in the grass.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
“Your mom told me you were out here.” He
began picking nervously at the grass. “Listen,”
he said, “about what you saw yesterday—”
“Yeah, it was creepy,” I remarked with an
edge.
He flinched, and I felt a twinge of regret.
“Sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Look,” his voice was calm, “I told you
we’d talk about it, and that’s what I came
here to do. So, ask me whatever you like.”
With a myriad of questions buzzing in my
head, I didn’t even know where to begin, so I
simply started with, “How—what makes you
a werewolf?” It almost sounded ridiculous out
loud.
“I was born that way, I guess.”
“And your parents?”
Magnus shrugged. “Probably werewolves.
I’ve never met my biological parents.”
“So you’re—”“Adopted, yes, and into a non-werewolf
family.” He chuckled at this.
I thought about what he said for a moment
before asking, “So how did you find out you
were a werewolf?”
“You just always know, in the same way
you’ve always known you aren’t one.”
“Interesting,” I muttered. I compressed
my lips and was quiet for one long minute.
Another question lingered at the tip of my
tongue, but I didn’t know how to pursue it.
“Utter it,” Magnus encouraged, smiling.
His eyes were steadfast on my face, trying to
read my thoughts.
I drew in a breath. “Werewolves and
werecats,” I started slowly, “how are they dif-
ferent, aside from the obvious? That werecat
yesterday, it was hunting me, right? What’s
to say that the werewolf, er, you know.. .” I
fumbled for the words.
Magnus flung himself back on the grass
and laughed. He plucked a long green stem
and stuck it between his teeth. “And you
want to know if I intend to do the same,” he
said, looking up at me, his prominent eyes
sparkling with amusement. “You could’ve
just asked about my favorite foods. I like
deep-dish pizza, grilled salmon, soda, and
strawberry ice cream, for starters. Rest
assured, Gretal, I’m not going to eat you. As
for the werecat,” he sighed deeply, “all I know
is that they’ve been extinct for more than
a hundred years—or so I thought. But this
one has somehow managed to survive, and
has kept a low profile all these years. Makes
me wonder if there are others. The accounts“GOOD MORNING,” Mom greeted
cheerfully when I entered the kitchen next morn-
ing. She was checking work emails on her tablet.
MYRIAD MEANS
MANY AND VARIED.