"Move out of the way, Simon," Dash said calmly.

"No! I won't let you shoot him!"

"We don't have a choice! He's gone full Chaney on us! Don't worry, I'll aim for an arm or a leg or somewhere non-vital."

"What if you miss?"

"We've got two dozen bullets. One of them ought to stop him."

"You might hit him in the head and kill him!"

"Look, if we stand around talking about this much longer, we'll all be dead! Get back!"

And suddenly there was a booming crack as the rifle went off.

TWO DAYS EARLIER

"Here you are, boys," Mr. Radford said, setting a small but heavy box on the table in front of us. "Twenty-four silver bullets. Your insurance policy."

"I don't think we'll need this," I said. "We're just going up on Wolf Mountain to film the annual werewolf migration. We're not getting close to them."

Dash gave me a pointed look.

"Really, I'm fine," I insisted. "Once a month I get a little hairy, but that's it. I've never in all these years lost control."

"You've never been around other wolves before," Mr. Radford pointed out.

"Actually," I said, "you're wrong. There was this guy in my unit in the Army who turned out to be a werewolf."

Simon's eyes went wide. "No kidding?"

"Nope. His name was Hector Gonzalez, and he was really cool. We read a lot of the same comic books, and we used to geek-talk all the time. And then I found out that wasn't all we had in common."

It was the night of the full moon, my third in Iraq. Up till now, I'd gotten away with staying indoors on full-moon nights, but this time I was on overnight watch. At least I'd be sitting outside by myself, so I could avoid inconvenient questions.

Then Gonzalez came outside and sat beside me, looking up at the moon.

"That's a pretty one," he said.

"Uh huh." I tried to keep my face turned away from him.

"Does it look bigger than it does at home?"

"A little, yeah."

"You're not looking."

"I was before. I had a good look before you got here."

He put his hand on the top of my head and gently turned it so that I was facing him. "Were those there yesterday?"

I sighed. I had been hoping to avoid having to explain all this. "I was attacked by a werewolf when I was thirteen. I'm lucky that this is all I get."

"You were bitten?"

"More like scratched, but since he kinda slobbered all over me . . . yeah."

"Who did this? What clan?"

"Clan? I don't know. He was just this guy."

"Rogue, huh? What happened to him?"

"I don't know. He ran away, and hasn't been seen since. Why?"

"I'll show you why." Hector went around the corner of the building. There was a rustle of cloth. A moment later, a big dog came trotting up to meet me.

"No way."

The dog looked at me and grinned. Then he scratched WAY in the dirt in front of me. He went back around the corner and Hector came back, tugging his shirt down.

"So now you know," he said. "You're not alone."

I had a million questions I wanted to ask all at once. "What did you mean about clans? Are there more of you? You can control the change? Can you teach me to do that?"

"Whoa, whoa! One thing at a time! Yes, there are clans. I'm part of the Huaravera clan; we came up from Mexico about a hundred years ago. Altogether, counting newbies, there are fifty-four of us."

"Newbies?"

"It's very rare these days for a born werewolf to bite someone accidentally. Your Mr. Chaney must have run into one of the exceptions. Usually we need clearance from the clan leader, the Alpha-and a good reason. The new werewolf then stays with the clan for a year, until he-or she-learns everything they need to know. They usually choose to stay on with the clan, but sometimes they leave. If they do it without permission, they're called rogues, and they're shunned by the other members of the clan. If they're lucky, they can join another clan, provided they can prove themselves worthy. Sometimes a lone rogue will bite another, and pass on the curse."

"And that's what happened to me?"

"Looks that way."

"Is there a cure?"

"Only one I know of," he said. "Silver. It's poison to born werewolves, but if it gets into your bloodstream, it'll kill off the werewolf infection in you."

"That's what happened to Mr. Chaney," I told him. "Mr. Radford shot him in the foot with a silver bullet, and he changed back. So it doesn't have to kill a werewolf to cure him?"

"Not the bitten wolves. Some of the European clans call them changelings. The thing is, the silver has to stay in you for a while in order to work the change back. You can't dig the bullet out right away. And of course if you hit something vital, you might die anyway."

"This is amazing! I never knew there were . . . others."

"Oh, yeah. Not that we all get together a lot-most clans are territorial, and you can't come onto another clan's turf without a good reason. But I knew there was something about you. I could smell it."

"Dude, that's gross."

"You haven't noticed a heightened sense of smell on full moon nights?"

"Mostly I just hide out in my room till morning. It's a little hard to explain to people, you know what I mean?"

"No, you should be out there running! Don't be afraid! Embrace what you are! Next full moon, you and I are going running. I'll show you how to use the gift you've been given!"

"You don't have to-"

"Think of it as long-overdue initiation. After you've been out with me, you'll never want to hide again."

Hector sat with me all night long, even though he didn't have to. Before morning he promised to take me out on a run next full moon.

"How will you manage that?" I asked. The Army doesn't let you wander off without good reason.

"You let me handle that," he said, with a grin.

The night before the next full moon, I found a note on my bunk: TELL HARRISON (our CO) THAT YOU'RE TAKING SKIPPY FOR A WALK. HE'LL GIVE YOU THE OKAY.

"Who the hell is Skippy?" I wondered, but the next evening, after we finished the last meal of the day, I went to Sergeant Harrison, who was in the command tent.

"I need to take Skippy for a walk," I said.

He nodded. "Knock yourselves out. Be back by 2200."

"Thank you, sir."

He looked at me. "Bring a field pack," he said, "and your weapon. Just in case."

"Yes, sir."

I stepped outside and there was a very familiar-looking sitting on his haunches waiting for me.

"Hector-I mean Skippy?"

He barked, stood up, and led the way back to my quarters, where I picked up my weapon and my pack. By the time I headed out, I could feel the whiskers growing in. I hoped we could get a good distance away before anyone noticed.

Once we were safely out of sight, Hector changed back. It was so quick that I missed the actual moment of change. One second he was a wolf, the next he was a human.

"My shorts are in your pack," he said, while I kept my eyes averted. "Just toss 'em to me."

I did so. There was a rustle of fabric, and then I dared to look again. "Your wolf name is Skippy?"

"It is here. At home it's something else."

"And Harrison knows what you are?"

"He's the only one-besides you-who knows the truth. The other guys think I'm a dog who wandered into camp one day and hangs around sometimes. No one's ever noticed that when Skippy's around, I'm not, and vice versa."

"Clark Kent puts on a pair of glasses and becomes a different person. We see what we want to see."

"There's so much more to the world than seeing. Close your eyes."

I did so. "What now?"

"Listen to your other senses. What are they telling you?"

For a moment, there was nothing. Then all at once, it hit me. The sounds of small animals moving nearby. Part of me wanted to chase after them, but the rest of me stayed still and breathed in the deep dark smells of the night.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"I've never felt anything like this. It's like . . . like everything's turned up to 11. Is this what it's like for you all the time?"

"Most of it. My senses are sharp even in human form, but they're amazing in wolf form. You should be there when the whole clan runs together. It's something I just can't describe, man. It's like we all connect and move and think as one."

"That must be really mind-blowing."

"You have no idea. Hang on, someone's coming." There was that rustle of fabric, and I opened my eyes to see Skippy nuzzling my pack. I tucked the discarded shorts inside.

It seemed forever until I heard footsteps approaching, my senses being not quite as sharp as Skippy's. Quickly I snatched up my weapon and made sure it was loaded and ready to go.

It turned out to be Baker from the 14th. "I heard voices out here," he said. "Is that your dog?"

"Yeah, he's with us."

"You should probably head back now. Getting cold out here."

"Is it? I didn't notice." Did my blood run hotter on full moon nights?

"See you back at base, man." He started back down the trail. A few minutes later, I shouldered my pack and headed in the same direction. Skippy was right on my heels.

And that was how it was, every full moon, the whole time I was in Iraq. Before I came home, Hector and I exchanged addresses and phone numbers so we could stay in touch.

"You gotta come out to Baja," he insisted, "and run with the rest of the clan."

"Maybe I will someday," I promised. "Right now I just want to go home."

"Wow," said Simon, when I finished my story. "So he was like a secret weapon?"

"One that we never got to use, as far as I know. Skippy remained our semi-mascot, and other guys got to walk him after I left, but I don't think anyone else knew his secret. Just me and Sergeant Harrison."

"He's not the only werewolf to serve his country," said Mr. Radford. "I've heard about a whole squadron of wolf soldiers who fought for France in World War Two. Never met any of them, though. And I know for a fact that there were zombies in Vietnam on both sides."

"Yeah, but can you get anyone to confirm it?"

"Probably not. Well, have a good time up on Wolf Mountain, boys."

"Come with us," said Dash. "We could always use a hand."

"Oh, no, I'd never make it till midnight. Some nights I can barely stay awake through the ten o'clock news. I'm not as young as I used to be, you know."

"I hope that when I get to be your age," I told him, "I'm even half as cool as you are."

"I just hope I make it past forty," said Simon.

We started setting up on the top of the mountain precisely at sunset. It was the first time I'd been to Wolf Mountain since the whole Harvest King thing.

"Will we need to set up the lights?" Dash asked me.

I shook my head. "We don't want to attract too much attention. The infrared filters on the cameras should work fine. We can test it to make sure we get a good picture."

Simon was looking at me intently. "When does . . . it . . . happen? Right at sunset? When it's been dark awhile?"

"Technically," I said, "it's supposed to happen at moonrise, but since the moon's already up, I'm guessing it won't be till it's darker. It varies depending on the time of year and where I am at the time."

"Just don't go all nuts on us." Dash was loading the silver bullets into his rifle, just to be safe.

"He said he's fine!" Simon snapped at him. "Marshall's never gone full-on wolf at the full moon before!"

"First time for everything."

"Put the gun down," I said calmly. "Nothing's gonna happen. We're here to observe and record, and that's that. We're not going to-what are you doing?" I had heard the rustle of cellophane.

Dash held up a small package that was driving my unusually acute sense of smell crazy. "What? I'm hungry."

"I thought we agreed no food! They'll smell it a mile away!"

"It's just a little package of jerky. It'll be gone by the time they come through."

"They'll still smell the traces of it on you. I can smell it from here, and you haven't even opened it yet!"

"Fine, I'll put it in the truck." He stomped off toward the parking area, leaving Simon and me to finish setting up the equipment alone. We didn't mind, though; it would actually go quicker without Dash distracting us.

Once everything was in place, all we had to do was wait. Legend had it that once a year on this night, the werewolves crossed the mountain on their annual migration.

"How will we know if they're werewolves," Simon asked me, "and not just regular wolves?"

"I'll know," I told him. "I know what werewolves smell like." I sniffed the air. Nothing yet. "They'll come."

"Why do they run," Dash mused, "all the way across the country and back again? Must take them weeks."

"It's a cultural thing, I guess. Why do humans get in a big metal chariot and travel all the way to the ocean for a week every July?"

"I'll tell you why," said Simon. "Cause someone is too chicken to fly!"

"I am not chicken! Air travel is dangerous! Do you know how many plane crashes there were last year?"

Simon had no patience for this argument. "More people are killed in car crashes than in plane crashes. The highways are more dangerous than the skies! Yet you won't get on a plane and let us get to New Jersey two days sooner. Why is that?"

"If God had wanted man to fly, he would have given us wings!"

"Thought you didn't believe in God."

"I acknowledge he exists. I just don't worship Him."

"Guys, stop it!" I said. Or meant to say; it came out as a growl. Literally.

The two of them stopped arguing and looked at me. "Does he look . . . hairier to you?" Dash asked Simon.

"Well, yeah-"

"I mean more than normal. Look at his hands."

I glanced down. My hands were slowly growing a cover of thick, dark fur . . . and my fingernails were lengthening into claws.

"What's happening to me?" It came out as a long, mournful howl.

From far down in the valley, I heard an answering howl.

"Oh, great," Dash muttered. "The wolves are here. He's calling them up here to slaughter us!"

"Marshall?" Simon looked up at me, but didn't dare get closer than arm's length away from me. "I know you're in there! Please stop this! You don't want to hurt us! You don't wanna hurt anyone!"

"They're coming!" Dash ran and hid behind a tree, as if that would mask his presence from acute wolf senses.

Everything was all confused inside my head. There were thoughts running around in there that didn't seem to be mine. I was looking at Simon and part of me was thinking "friend." But another part didn't seem to recognize him at all. I could feel something prickling on the back of my neck, even as my muscles prepared to spring.

Then I heard the clack-clack of the rifle.

"Move out of the way, Simon," Dash said. He was pointing the rifle at me, although (I hoped) not at my head.

"No! I won't let you shoot him!"

"We don't have a choice! He's gone full Chaney on us! Don't worry, I'll aim for an arm or a leg or somewhere non-vital."

"What if you miss?"

"We've got two dozen bullets. One of them ought to stop him."

The part of me that was still me seemed to be very far away, watching all this without being able to do anything about it. The rest of me was all KILL KILL KILL.

"You might hit him in the head and kill him!"

"Look, if we stand around talking about this much longer, we'll all be dead! Get back!"

I just wanted to put an end to the noise. I moved forward clumsily, almost falling over; why was I upright instead of on all fours? I raised my head to call for help-

And suddenly there was a booming crack and then a searing pain in my upper arm. I was knocked back by the force of the bullet, lying face-up in the dirt and whining in pain.

The KILL KILL voices in my head began to fade away, and I found my own voice. I screamed just about every curse word I knew, still lying on the ground with my right hand clutching my left arm. Something wet was trickling down. I was bleeding.

"Get the first-aid kit," Dash ordered, his voice trembling only a little.

Simon was not nearly so calm. "You shot him! You actually shot him!"

"I'm not going through all this again! Just go get the first-aid kit before he bleeds to death!"

"I'm okay," I said.

Dash came over and sat down on the ground beside me. "Sorry about that, buddy. I tried to aim for something that wouldn't kill you."

"Sixteen months in Iraq, and I came home without a scratch. And my best friend shoots me on what's supposed to be an easy job! The wolves have probably scattered by now."

"Either that or they'll come check it out, and attack us."

Just as he was saying that, I saw a blur of motion in the trees, and suddenly a large furry form bounded up to us. I recognized him immediately.

"Hector, is that you? I thought you lived in California!"

"Wait a minute, this is-?" Dash looked at me, and then at Hector, who in the split-second we had looked away had changed. He hadn't brought his shorts with him.

"Simon!" I called out. "Bring the blanket from the truck!"

"What?"

"The blanket in the back of the truck!"

"Why, are you cold?"

"You'll see when you get here."

I managed to keep my eyes averted until Simon came with the first-aid kit, which he handed to Dash, and the blanket, which he gave to me. I handed it over to Hector, who wrapped it around his waist so that things wouldn't be quite so awkward.

"I heard a gunshot," he said, "so I came to check it out."

"You're a long way from Baja, hermano."

"I know. We're hoping to make it all the way to Maine by the end of the month, before it gets too cold. Then we head back home. I told the others to wait down below till I came back."

I got up shakily, and went to peer over the edge of the rim. "Wow, your clan is huge! Must be hundreds of wolves down there."

"It's not just us. We get together with the Manzanilla and Soleado clans for the migration. What are you doing up here, man?"

"I live here. You know that."

"No, I mean, what are you doing here? Like, on top of the mountain?"

"Oh, that. We, um . . ." I pointed weakly toward the video equipment we hadn't finished setting up. "We came to take some pictures of the migration."

"You got too close, bro. Tapped into the pack mind."

"Oh, is that what that was?" I took a step and almost fell over the edge of the cliff. All the strength had gone out of my knees, and I swayed sideways.

"Marshall!" Dash rushed over and caught me before gravity won the fight. "What are you doing? Do you have any idea how much blood you've lost? Come here and let me patch you up."

"Shouldn't'a shot me, then," I mumbled.

"Silver bullets?" Hector inquired.

Dash nodded, leading me back to our campsite. He sat me down and took my jacket off, then the shirt underneath.

"Looks like it lodged in the muscle," he said. "Didn't nick the bone. I'll bind it up till we get down the mountain and can get it looked at properly."

"What, you mean like a hospital?" I stared at him, shocked. "First thing they'll do is report it to the police! How will we explain all this to them?"

"We may not have to. I'll be back." Hector shrugged the blanket off and changed, then raced off down the mountain. I heard a lot of howling and barking, but that feeling of being tuned into the pack mind was gone.

"I think it worked," I said. "I don't feel wolfy anymore. So you can dig the bullet out and close it up."

"I don't know." Simon was looking at the exit wound. "That looks too big to be just taped up. I'm thinking you might need stitches."

"And I don't sew," said Dash resolutely. "Don't worry, we'll make up a good explanation."

There was a rush of motion and suddenly there was a russet muzzle in my face. "Hi," I said. I wisely refrained from reaching out to pet the newcomer, afraid I might get my hand bitten off.

The new wolf was wearing a kind of backpack, and Skippy ran alongside him, tugging at the zipper with his teeth. A few small objects tumbled out, and then a couple of pieces of clothing dropped out. Hector changed, tugged on a pair of blue running shorts, and then picked up a red sundress that was lying on the ground. He tossed it to the side, and the russet wolf ran over, picked it up, and changed. He was actually a she; I caught a glimpse of a middle-aged woman's body before she pulled the sundress over her head. She didn't bother with underwear or a bra, but from what I'd seen, she didn't need one. Her flesh was as tight as a drum.

"Tia Carmen," Hector said, "this is Marshall Teller. The boy who was in the Army with me. I told you and Tio Esteban about how he was bitten by a rogue."

"I wondered why he smelled like one of us. It's fading, though. Silver bullet?"

I nodded, momentarily speechless.

"Looks like it's been in long enough to neutralize the original infection. We can remove it and stitch up the entrance and exit wounds. My kit should still be in the bag, if it hasn't fallen out."

"I think this is it here." Simon picked it up and brought it over to her. "So you're like a doctor?"

"I learned the healing arts from my mother, who learned it from her mother, and so on back to the beginning. We can't go to regular physicians, you see, because the differences are just too pronounced to ignore."

"You're talking about born wolves," I said. "There's really that much of a difference?"

"We are much more long-lived than ordinary humans. Even bitten wolves have longer lives than normal. I understand your Mr. Chaney was almost a hundred years old, but looked barely half of that."

"Yeah, until we shot him with the silver bullet. Wait, does that mean that I would have lived a really long time?"

"Definitely."

"Wow. I mean, I know I live to be pretty old anyway. I met myself as an old man once, when I was a kid."

She cocked her head at me. "How is that?"

"Um . . . I don't know, really. I suppose I'll find out one day. So when are you gonna take the bullet out?"

"Oh, the bullet is out," she said matter-of-factly.

Skippy grinned at me, a shiny object clutched between his teeth.

I looked down at the wound which was no longer bleeding so freely. The edges of the hole did seem a little wider, as if someone had reached in to pull out a foreign object. "You were distracting me," I said. "So I wouldn't notice."

She smiled. "It is easier to distract you than to tell you to brace yourself. Now comes the hard part. I will try to numb the pain for you, but it will still hurt like hell." She unzipped something that looked like a makeup case and took out a very long needle and a bottle of clear liquid.

"What is that?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even. I'm sure a little nervousness crept in anyway.

"This is lidocaine, a local anesthetic. Without it, this would really hurt. I hope you are not afraid of needles."

"Not really." It was a lie. I wasn't scared to death of needles, but I didn't like them all that much. Whenever I had a shot at the doctor's office, I had to look away and think of something else.

"Do you want a countdown?"

"No, I'm okay. Go for it."

She slipped the tip of the needle under my skin, and it hurt like fire. I gritted my teeth and tried to think of something pleasant like sunny days and comic books.

Eventually she pulled the needle out and held a piece of gauze to the spot where it had gone in. "There. Give that a minute or so to work, then we will begin."

Great. Why couldn't she just get this over with? "I'm sorry I'm keeping your whole clan waiting while you take care of me."

"It's all right. We need to stop to rest, and eat."

"Eat who?" Dash asked nervously.

Carmen laughed. "Small animals-squirrels, rabbits, mice. Some of us carry packaged food with us. The only rule on that is you have to share. We don't attack humans unless they appear to pose a threat to us."

"Marshall almost attacked us just now," Simon said.

"Yeah," I told him, "because you two were driving me crazy arguing! The wolf-mind must have seen that as a threat. To peace and quiet, if nothing else."

My arm was starting to go numb. I poked at it a few times, but felt nothing.

"Ah, we're ready." Carmen got out her extra-large needle and thick, sturdy suture thread and went to work. I couldn't feel a thing, but looking at her sewing up the hole in my arm made me feel a little queasy, so I looked away.

"It was right here," I said.

The others looked at me expectantly.

"Where Mr. Chaney brought me, all those years ago. Where he probably brought the other Harvest Kings, just before he slaughtered them. I could smell the blood when my senses went nuclear."

"How many others?"

Hector sniffed the ground. "Four men. No, five. I'm smelling your blood as well," he said, looking at me.

"Well, duh!" Dash pointed to the fresh drops of blood on the ground. "I just shot him!"

"No, this is older. This was where he always brought them?"

I nodded.

"This may have been where he was bitten himself. Tradition is very important to our people. He was trying to keep the traditions, but without proper training, he didn't know how."

"He did use that word a lot. Tradition."

"This is kinda weird," said Simon. "Sitting in the spot where four guys died. Led like lambs to the slaughter."

"At least the town took care of their families afterwards," I pointed out. I could just barely feel the pulling and tugging where Carmen was sewing up my arm, and even though there wasn't any pain, I still knew what was going on. I changed the subject. "Do the clans get together often, or just once a year?"

"There are other times," Hector said. He was sitting there in just shorts, and I couldn't help thinking that he must have been freezing, wolf blood or no wolf blood. "Weddings are usually a big draw. Sometimes funerals as well. If someone is well-known to another clan, they'll come to pay their respects. If an Alpha dies, every clan is expected to send representatives, usually the other clan Alpha's children. I've been to three funerals just since I've been back."

The implications of this statement struck me. "Your dad's an Alpha?"

"I don't make a big deal of it-it doesn't mean anything to humans, and most wolves know us by smell if not sight-but he pretty much rules the entire Valley. At least, the portion on four legs."

"Wow," said Simon. "That makes you kind of like a prince, doesn't it?"

"Not really. He's more like a governor than a king. Power is by consensus rather than heredity. Although Alphas tend to run in families."

"So you could be the big boss man someday?" Dash asked.

"Yes, but probably not for a long time. My father is still relatively young. Besides which, I have four brothers-the only reason my parents let me enlist. We always have a backup plan. Mine is named Tomas."

I remembered him telling me about his brother Tom, who was close to Simon's age. "He's down there, isn't he?"

"They're all down there. Tommy and Joe and Benny, and my little sister Maria. Want to come meet them?"

"Maybe later."

"We won't be hanging around here much longer. Gotta keep moving if we're gonna make it into New England by Friday."

"But that's like a thousand miles away!"

"We can cover a lot of ground quickly when we have to. Besides, we're not limited to full moon changes. If we wanted, we could stay in wolf form all the way to the East Coast."

"Well, good luck, man."

"There we are!" Carmen tied off the thread and stepped back to look at her handiwork. "If anyone asks, tell them that you fell on a tree branch."

"Thank you, ma'am," I said. "For everything."

"De nada." She went behind a tree, threw off the sundress, and returned as the russet wolf.

"Time to go," Hector said. "I'll give you a hand packing up all this stuff."

"No," Dash said, "we've got it. You go on back to your people, Skippy."

"I was only Skippy to the unit," Hector said, smiling. "My family name is Alfonso." Then he yanked off the shorts, tucked them and the sundress back into the pack, and changed.

I watched the two wolves running side by side to join the rest of their family. "What a life," I said. "I miss it already."

Which brings me to tonight, when we finally got our footage of the migration.

As soon as we finished setting up the equipment, I left Simon and Dash and went to the van, parked at the edge of the trail. I tapped on the window. "Jack? Come on, kiddo, wake up. The wolves are coming."

He rolled over and opened his eyes. "You can tell?"

"Yeah. I can still kind of feel them. Now come on, you don't want to miss this."

He struggled with the door handle, and I remembered the child lock and opened it from the outside. Then we walked back up the path together, under the light of a full moon that I no longer feared. I spread out the blanket on the spot where the Eerie Wolf had once prowled, and Jack sat down and looked up at the moon.

"It's really bright," he said.

"This is the brightest full moon of the whole year," I told him. "It's why the werewolves choose this month for their migration. Listen: can you hear that?"

There was a howl in the distance. Jack's eyes lit up. "They're coming?"

"They're coming. Are we recording?" I called to Dash and Simon, who were manning the video setup.

Simon looked over his shoulder and gave me a thumbs-up.

"Great." I sat on the blanket and closed my eyes, trying to tap into the pack mind, even though I knew it was hopeless. I could sense them on the edge of my consciousness, but that was it. I missed that exhilarating feeling of hearing, smelling, and feeling everything at once, and I often wished that I could have had more time with Hector to learn all the ins and outs of properly being a werewolf. But what was done was done, and I couldn't complain.

There was no sound as they approached. The pack knew how to be stealthy.

"Here they come," Dash whispered, and we got up and carefully made our way to the edge of the cliff.

The entire forest floor below us was a mass of furry bodies, even more than the last time we had been here. The pack had grown. We saw big wolves and smaller wolves, black wolves, brownish gray wolves, and some that were almost white. All of them moved together as one body, with a grace that no pureblooded human could match.

"You know what we do now, Jack?" I asked.

He turned his face up to mine. "What?"

"We howl. To let them know we're here, and we're friends. Ready?"

He nodded.

Both of us, together, threw back our heads and howled at the harvest moon. The wolves stopped and howled back. And one of them, towards the front of the pack, broke away and headed towards us.

"What's he doing?" Jack asked in alarm.

"It's okay," I reassured him. "I know him. He's just coming up to say hello."

I had a pair of sweatpants ready for him this time. When the wolf came up the path and suddenly became a man, I tossed them to him. "Hello, Hector. Been a while."

"Hermano." He slipped the pants on quickly and came to join us. "How've you been?"

"Fine. Things couldn't be better. This is my son, Jack. He's six and a half."

"Hi," Jack said.

"You're not the only one who's been busy," Hector said. He put two fingers to his lips and gave a piercing whistle.

Suddenly, about a hundred small furry bodies bounded up the path and swarmed all over us.

"Get off me!" Dash swatted at the tiny wolf who was attacking his pants pocket.

"You brought jerky, didn't you?" I asked. "Give it to him. Her?"

"That's Carlitos," Hector said. "He's always hungry. You'd better toss it away from you or he'll bite your fingers off."

"Very funny," Dash grumbled. He unwrapped the jerky and held it as far away from his body as he could. Carlitos snapped it up in one bite.

"That's Eduardo, Martin, Chucho, and Juanita," Hector said, pointing, though it wasn't clear who was who as the cubs wouldn't stay still for a moment. "The older ones are down with the rest of the pack."

"You in charge now?" Simon asked.

Hector shook his head. "Not yet. But my dad's . . . not well. If he steps down within the year, I've got a pretty good shot at it."

"What's wrong with him?"

"If you don't mind us asking," I added. "If it's pack business, you don't have to share."

"No, it's okay. He took a bullet in the foreleg in the spring-a regular bullet, not silver-and it never healed right. Something about the way it impacted the bone, Tia Carmen said. Idiots with guns."

"I guess I was lucky the bullet that hit me didn't do much damage," I said, and Dash looked away.

We got the cooler out of the van. There were some juice boxes in there, and let me tell you, you haven't lived until you've seen a wolf cub try to drink juice out of a straw. In the end they just bit a hole in the box and slurped it up that way. The kids didn't seem to want to change. Hector said they were too excited about being along on the migration for the first time.

He sniffed the air. "No new blood," he said.

"No, we didn't have the Harvest King lottery in 2005. Some people asked about it, but most didn't seem too upset about it. I think deep down they knew, but they just didn't want to admit it."

"And Mr. Chaney? What happened to him?"

"I don't know. He left town, and we never saw or heard from him again. Just as well, I guess."

We sat there for close to two hours, eating and catching up. It was the best of all possible worlds: I got to hang out with an old friend, Jack made some new friends, and we got absolutely flawless video of the migration, some of which ended up on YouTube later. Best of all was the feeling that even though I wasn't even a semi-werewolf anymore, we were still part of the pack. And always would be.

Happy Halloween! I won't be updating this story in November (NaNoWriMo takes precedence), but come back in December for a three-part adventure you won't want to miss!