That night, when Sam rushed to our house at my father's bidding, I avoided him by getting in my car and driving away from there. I wanted to scream. I couldn't stand leaving Seth there, sick and helpless, but what could I do? I had to trust my father, and that he knew what was right, that he had some knowledge of this that I didn't. It seemed like everyone did.

I drove until I ran out of road, and I found myself at Rialto Beach, so I parked my car and continued on foot. I walked right down the sandbar and trudged into the ocean up to my knees. It was freezing, but I think I just wanted to feel that I could escape all this, that I had an option. But I stopped just short of diving in. Instead I turned and walked through the surf, belatedly glad that I had slipped on a pair of sandals instead of runners as I'd fled from my house.

I stayed out for a good couple of hours, so by the time I got home Sam was long gone, and my mother had returned from work. I found her and my father eating my stew at the dining room table, one extra place set for me, but none for my brother. Cautiously I approached them; if they noticed my soaked jeans, they didn't comment.

"Mom?" I asked tentatively. "How's Seth?"

"He's fine," my father answered for her.

"Have something to eat, sweetheart," she said, pulling my chair out.

"I'm just going to change my clothes," I said, frowning at how calm and untroubled my mother seemed. But I hoped that it meant that Seth was better.

I went to my room and found a pair of sweat pants, exchanging my jeans for those. I moved quickly so I would have time to duck into Seth's room; he was fast asleep, wearing nothing but boxers, on top of the blankets with his window wide open and three fans set up to blow on his body from various angles. I touched his skin, and if possible it was even hotter than it had been before. Yet it didn't seem to be wreaking as much havoc on him, as though somehow his body was adjusting to the fever. I closed the door on him and left him alone to sleep.

I joined my parents for an uncomfortable dinner. We made small talk, all of us dancing around the one subject that made any sense. But it was just as well that we didn't have that conversation: between my father's assurances that everything would be fine, and my mother's blind trust in his words, I wouldn't have been able to get a word in edgewise. At least, not one that mattered. So I left it alone, wishing I still had the ultimate trust in my parents that I'd had a small child, when they could do no wrong.

Three days passed. Seth's temperature rose and rose, yet still my father insisted that we do nothing. Once, I heard an argument between my parents in the night, but my father quickly soothed my mother's concerns, and I overheard no other proof that she might have sided with me. For Seth's part, I had to admit that he seemed mostly okay. Every time the fever spiked, his breathing would become difficult, he would perspire to the point that our mother had to give him a full sponge bath and change the sheets at least twice a day… but then his body seemed to catch up to the heat, and he was okay again. I didn't know how, but Seth's body seemed to be learning how to function at a temperature that should have been impossible.

I had to constantly make excuses to leave the house, as Sam insisted on visiting daily, and on the fourth day I took advantage of a friend's invitation to go shopping for new clothes. I left just as Sam was arriving, so though I had to see his face and the guilty look he gave me, I didn't have to speak to him. I counted that as a victory, and looked forward to a day of mindless shopping. In the old days, I had loved to shop, and could spend whole afternoons and evenings in Port Angeles with my friends. I felt badly that I had been so careless of them, but the ones who had stuck by me while I had been dealing with Sam's changes all understood, and I was glad for a girls' night out. We drove in separate cars, meeting at a favourite shopping mall in Forks that had been our second home only a short couple year or two ago. We had gone there almost every day after school back then, still inhabiting that strange age bracket where a mall seems like the most important place to be. Apparently my friends still resided there, though I felt like I had moved on long ago. But still, it was a good reason to get out, and to spend some time with people that I had neglected too often these past several months.

I was preoccupied worrying about Seth, but I tried to have fun. Still, I found it difficult. I was with two good friends of mine from the Rez, Hannah and Lindsay, who I had known since we were toddlers, yet I was surprised to find myself feeling irritated at the silliest things. It was true that their whispered giggles over a cute boy or gossip about the latest movie did seem a bit uninteresting given what I'd been dealing with lately, but still- they were my friends. I couldn't seem to shake my foul mood, and even snapped outright at Hannah for some innocuous comment I can't even remember now.

As an apology, I sprung for ice cream at our favourite place, partly to make it up to them, and partly because I felt warm and hoped it would cool me down. I listened with half an ear to their gossip and small-talk, mostly about Rez boys they liked and adventures they'd had in Forks and Port Angeles that I'd missed out on during my grieving, that sort of thing. I started to find it difficult to concentrate on what they were saying, and I must have spaced out for a minute, because the next thing I knew they were staring at me.

"Sorry," I said, touching my flushed cheeks. "Did you ask me something?"

"No," Lindsay said. "I said you look weird… are you sick or something?"

"No…" I answered, an unfounded flash of rage blossoming suddenly in my chest. "I'm fine. What do you mean I look 'weird'?"

"You're all red," Hannah said, after exchanging a nervous glance with Lindsay. They were both gazing at me in what I was sure was concern, but I felt myself squirming under their eyes. Beneath the table, my fists clenched with irrational anger.

Lindsay dug out a compact from her purse and flipped the mirror open, holding it up to my face. I was so surprised at my own appearance that I didn't recognize myself right away: my cheeks were flushed bright red, but in a strange, blotchy pattern, as though my face couldn't decide if it wanted to be rosy or pale. And underneath, my skin had a sickly, pallid colour that emphasized the dark circles under my eyes. But even those looked different- I had a vacant look in my eyes, like they weren't quite focusing.

As though seeing my own face made my symptoms more real, I suddenly felt overwhelmed by flashes of heat that tore through my whole body. I put my head down on the cool metal table and tried to take deep breaths. I felt one of my friends put her hand on the back of my neck, and it felt like ice.

"You're burning up," Hannah gasped.

"Yeah, Leah, you should really go home," Lindsay said.

Slowly, I stood up. They were both looking at me, two sets of brown eyes wide with concern.

"Do you want me to drive you?" Hannah asked.

"No," I said quickly. "No, I'm okay… I'll be fine."

"Okay," Lindsay said doubtfully. "Call us later, alright?"

"Sure," I said. "I'm just going to go to the bathroom. I'll see you guys later." I made a beeline for the ladies room, but it was like I barely felt the cold water hit my face. I avoided my own gaze in the mirror and then I left the bathroom, hurrying to my car. I dropped the keys on the ground as I got them out of my purse, which was probably an indication that I shouldn't have driven at all, but I was only forty minutes from home.

I managed to get the keys into the ignition on the first try, and then I drove- carefully- out of town towards home. Once I was on La Push Road it was a relatively straight shot to the Rez, which is probably the only reason I didn't end up in an accident. As my headlights sliced across the lines that marked the lanes of the highway, strange images danced in my vision. The lines made weird patterns in front of my eyes, and more than once I had to catch myself from getting lost in those designs, instead of watching the road. On some level I knew I was hallucinating, and that it was very wrong that I felt hot even with my windows down and the air conditioning blasting. But I felt like I could only concentrate on one thing right now, and that was getting home alive in one piece. Luckily, there weren't many people on the road to the Rez that night.

When I saw my house I felt such a wash of relief that I had made it, so much relief that my hands started shaking and I realized that I'd been holding back my panic and the full extent of my illness. I managed to stop the car before I plowed into the house, but other than that my parking job was more of a slow skid through the mud with perhaps only one of my tires actually ending up on the driveway.

I sat in the driver's seat, not cutting the engine because I didn't want to lose that precious air conditioning. I was happy to see that Sam's truck was gone, but other than that I didn't notice much about my surroundings. I felt overwhelmed by heat, and my vision was not just playing tricks on me anymore, it was going black. Little stars pushed at the corners of my vision as it blurred, and my head was overcome with pounding, all other sounds fading out as I felt my whole body shaking as the fever overcame me. The last thing I remember is the sound of my car's horn blaring as I collapsed onto the steering wheel, finally losing my battle to stay conscious.

I couldn't say how much time passed- if it had been minutes, hours, or days- before I woke up again. I was in my bed, on top of the blankets, one of the fans stolen from Seth's room and put to use in my own. My mother had undressed and redressed me, and I lay there in nothing but a pair of boy shorts and a tank top, a light sheet draped over me. Yet still my body burned. I felt like there was a fire smoldering in my chest, and it was threatening to overwhelm me.

At first I thought I was alone, but then I sensed my father's unmistakable presence in my room. I struggled to open my eyes, and I could see the beads of sweat clinging to my lashes as I finally did. My hair felt like one soaking, muggy mass where it lay plastered to the back of my neck, and every part of me was uncomfortable. I searched the dim light of my room and found my father's face, but I couldn't read his expression at first.

He frowned at me then, evidently not happy to see his daughter's return to consciousness, and I saw what I thought was fear and confusion in his gaze as I looked at me. I had to close my eyes then, because the fever was playing tricks on my vision- my father's soft wisps of gray-black hair looked like they were made of thousands of crawling, pulsing beetles. They were the shiny black kind that I used to hunt in the yard, placing them in tiny bottles so I could show Seth their delicate legs and wings, and the curves of their backs that he so loved.

When I opened my eyes again, the beetles were still there, and when my father spoke to me, I couldn't understand him. At first I thought he was speaking Quileute, which would have been ridiculous because I knew perhaps a dozen words of that language, and my father was hardly more fluent. When he spoke, his tongue emitted puffs of purple smoke that I eyed suspiciously.

Finally, when I avoided looking at him at all, I was able to understand him. He was saying, "Leah, you need to stop this." I tried to open my mouth and reply to that, but I couldn't. The mechanics of combining my lips, teeth, and mouth, as well as my brain, seemed overwhelming. He went on, "Seth needs to make this journey alone."

He thought I was faking. He thought this was some kind of misguided attempt on my part to join my brother in the scary place where he now lived, with one foot in life and one in death. But I didn't want that- I wanted to help Seth, not succumb to the same illness that had ravaged his body for half of the last week. I couldn't understand how my father could blame me for something that felt like it could easily kill me. I closed my eyes angrily against his words, but apparently he'd said everything he'd needed to, because he left me alone after that.

My mother moved between her two children's rooms, sponge-bathing us, feeding us ice cream and cold water, whispering words of reassurance into our ears, and keeping us comfortable. I felt so positive that I was dying, that this sickness was going to pull me under until I would finally lose my hold on life, letting it slip away with one last gasp for breath. When I slept, which was often, I dreamt of snow, of ice, of all the cold things I could think of, not knowing then that I would never feel cold again.

The fever dragged me out over the coals of five long days and nights. I remember very little of that time: only the constant agony of my burning body, from which sleep was the only escape. I was aware of voices from time to time- my mother's, my father's, and Sam's, but I usually couldn't make out what they were saying, and it was a struggle just to listen. Once I heard Seth's voice, and I was sure in that moment that we had both been killed by whatever was working through us. I cried and told him I was sorry, that I wished I had taken him to the hospital. I remember him trying to soothe me, telling me that everything would be okay, but by that time I couldn't even remember what it felt like to be properly alive, so I couldn't believe him.

And then the fever just disappeared. I would have fallen down on my knees and pledged my life to any god that came forward to claim responsibility for that. I had been dying and now I was alive- I felt like nothing could ever be better than this. I wanted to dive into a snow bank, to run to the ocean and throw myself into the icy waves. I wanted to eat; I was so hungry that I was sure I could have eaten through my family's entire pantry and refrigerator and still been ravenous at the end. But even standing was a trial, so I started with that.

When my father found me conscious and upright, I expected his comfort. Not his horror, his wide eyes turned on me as though I was something unknown to him, not his daughter but a hideous creature- something to be feared. When he refused to help me, and ran off to get Sam Uley of all people, I lost it. I wish I could say that tearing apart my room made me feel even a tiny bit better, but it didn't.

And then the change, the fear and confusion that accompanied that moment, the panic. Seth had tried to reassure me, and it had made me feel a little better to see him for the first time in days, to see that he was healthy and well. But even he couldn't take away my horror as I looked down where my hands should have been and saw huge gray paws instead. I was so sure I was going crazy; what else could I think? Who turns into a wolf? It was ridiculous, impossible. And then, when the voices cut through my mind, invading the privacy of my own thoughts, their silent tones familiar yet unfamiliar, I was sure of it: I had gone insane. The fever had boiled my brain to the point of damage, and it had stolen my senses.

It was hard not to panic when Seth left me alone, but unlike my father, I believed not that he had abandoned me, but that he was going for help. I tried to stay perfectly still, to ignore my hallucinations, but when Sam's familiar gruff tone joined the other voices, I couldn't resist talking to him. Maybe it was because I still trusted him, as much as I wanted to pretend I didn't. Maybe it was because of what he said to me, You're not crazy, Leah, and how much I wanted- needed- to believe that. I don't know what made me answer him, but I was sure that reply would be my undoing.

Finally, he came to me, not a hallucination at all but Sam in the flesh, real before my eyes. I had no doubt that it was really him, but as much as I wanted to accept the comfort he was offering, I felt threatened and cornered enough without him there. With him, it was almost unbearable being stuck in my bedroom that was now suddenly far too small. He told me not to be afraid, but how could I not be? I felt like my grip on reality had faltered, and this unreality seemed so genuine that I didn't know how to distinguish it from the truth.

With this attitude, I don't know how I accepted Sam's transformation before my eyes. Maybe on some deep, genetic level, the same level that had set off my own transformation, I knew it was true. Maybe, somehow, I had a deep, instinctual knowledge that the stories my father had told me as a child were not myths at all, but factual accounts of our tribe. Or maybe I was just too tired to fight anymore. So, I accepted it: accepted that Sam could change into the form of a wolf, and that I could, too.

But as much as I accepted it, I was terrified of the gravity of that knowledge. It fell onto me like a heavy burden, heavier even than the burden I had taken on after Sam left me, when I believed it had been my fault. This burden made me feel trapped, because I knew the one thing I could never escape was my own body, and somehow I had lost control of it. I wanted to cry, to run away, yet I was rooted to the spot, unable to move. And the only person I had to see me through this was Sam Uley, the man I swore I wouldn't talk to for a very long time. Yet I didn't have to talk to him at all- his voice was already inside my head. Fate had conspired to make an already terrible situation just that little bit worse.

Gently, I felt his mind reach out to me. Tentatively his consciousness tested my boundaries, so that he didn't invade my thoughts like an assault as the others had before, but allowed me to get used to his presence. Still, it was an unnerving feeling, and I was surprised how physical it was- the push of his mind against mine. When he was through I had this odd impression that he was holding me in his arms, the connection made us that close.

Finally, I heard his voice in my head, as clear as if he was speaking to me from where he stood, Leah. Accompanying the single word of my name came images of me- a smile, a blush, a laugh, a moan of passion, a look of stricken grief. They were all so fleeting, so quick, that I couldn't be sure that I had seen them at all.

Sam, I answered tentatively, feeling strange for just thinking his name, but he seemed to hear me, somehow. I wondered if he got a similar flood of images from my own mind, but if he did he said nothing about them.

I'm sorry this happened here, he thought to me. It might take you some time to figure out how to change back, and I don't think you'll be able to get out of your room until then.

I don't want to be trapped in here, I thought, the idea making me almost panicky. I was not claustrophobic as a rule, but this was an extreme situation.

Just stay calm, Sam thought. The more worked up you get, the harder it'll be to shift. This time when he spoke I felt another barrage of images, but I got the distinct impression that, unlike those that had accompanied my name, he was actually sending these intentionally. I saw myself happy in so many moments- our first kiss, our picnics on the beach, a hike through the mountains, secret smiles to each other across the heads of other students in the middle of a test, me cuddled into his shoulder sleeping on a long drive, his fingers tracing the naked curve of my hip while we lay in his bed, and so many more. I think he was showing them to me to soothe me, to calm me down. Instead, they had the opposite effect.

I turned my face away from him, as if that would stop it. Don't.

Leah-

Sam, I interrupted. I don't want to see that stuff. Those aren't happy memories for me anymore.

His voice in my head was silent for a long time, but finally, so gentle that it was just a ripple in my mind, I heard him again. Then let me show you something else, he thought. Let me tell you everything.

For a moment, I held my breath. This is what I had wanted for so long, but now that he was offering to give me everything, I felt the terror rising in my chest. It was so much… first this frightening change, and now this? Was I ready for it? Could I handle it now? My mind warred with the possibilities for a long moment, and I was sure that Sam was seeing my every thought, but I didn't know how- or if it was even possible- to cut him off.

But finally my need to know the truth overwhelmed my caution, and I gave my assent, not even bothering to think the word 'yes,' but somehow conveying my permission, wordlessly. The theory that I had gone insane was rapidly retreating from my mind, but I wasn't yet ready to fully accept the alternative. So I ignored the specifics, and opened my mind to his thoughts without wondering how, or why, it could be possible. Closing my eyes, I invited him to show me everything; I just wanted, finally, to hear the truth.