Wendy was a bundle of nerves during the tour. Fortunately (she hoped), Carla did most of the talking.
“And here, we have Newell Dining Hall, which services the Western portion of campus…”
The group was fairly large, about thirty girls of various ethnicities and social backgrounds. Wendy resolved herself to crowd control, partially to keep them going in the right direction, partially to keep an eye on them. So far, none had exhibited the changes, though a couple girls errantly felt their hair or scratched around their ears.
The tour was winding down with about 5:30, close to sunset. By now, every one was feeling shaky and uncomfortable. She noticed the first signs take hold, as half the girls were slowly developing the trademark points to their ears and sharpness in their eyeteeth. One girl’s hair had even went from a short haircut to a knee-length mane of hair. No one except Wendy seemed to notice.
“And that concludes our tour,” Carla proclaimed. So, how many of you will be joining us in the fall?”
Every girl raised their hand. Wendy’s heart skipped a beat.
Queen Swiftfang tugged at the blouse and dress she wore. It was stifling, and reminded her of that disgusting time she spent as a…she shuddered with the word…human.
The disguise was necessary, if only for the moment. Fielder College was the key to her greater plan, her greater need.
“The documentation on the new students, my Queen,” came a smooth voice behind her.
She turned, and saw the woman with the onyx mane, so recently recruited into the pack. Already, she had paid dividends. The outsiders knew what she was, saw her become, but could do nothing except investigate and join the sisterhood.
“Thank you, Laura,” she smiled, dismissing her subordinate after she placed her payload on the desk.
“Please, my Queen, call me Stronghowl.”
Swiftfang growled. “I told you, when the light overtakes us, you are Laura. Only when the blessed moon rises anew, and you take your true form, will you be called by your pack name. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my Queen,” she whimpered, bowing low in search of forgiveness. “Forgive me,” she whispered, leaving with her aural tail between her legs.
Her attention returned to the tour, as she idly loosened her blouse. She tucked her lush mane behind her pointed ears, more pronounced than the others.
Thirty more would join the pack tonight. After that, they would share their gift with their female friends and family members.
Soon, there will be enough for the Ultimate Howl.
Five hundred girls at least must have walked by here, and nobody dragged him out yet. He’d picked a good place to hide.
Philip popped another piece of gum, the only source of pseudo-nourishment he had in the classroom he had found for shelter. It was panic, pure and simple, that had brought him here. Turner Hall was apparently closed for reconstruction; fortunately, he was small enough to squeeze through the unsightlier areas.
Still, he told himself that everything was going to be okay, because he still had Linkin Park on his head, Winterfresh in his pocket, and a damn good hiding place.
He worried about the one girl who saw him, when the Freshmen orientation group went by. The one with…well, that’s stupid, he thought. They all have long hair, and pointed ears, and fangs. They’re werewolves, for Christ’s sake. Living, breathing, killing, freakin’ werewolves.
She saw him, and didn’t sick the…what’re they called in groups, prides? Whatever. Somehow, she might be the key to all this. He had to find out what was going on. Where were all the men? What were the monsters planning to do with those girls? Was everyone here a werewolf? Why hadn’t he become one, too?
He chuckled to himself. He sounded like a reporter, not a cameraman.
Somehow, he doubted the van was intact. Even if it was, it was useless without a fresh battery. He wanted to find a media lab, something that might have a strong transmitter. He’d already gotten the evidence out with the broadcast. He just needed to tell the outside world what was going on, and pray some schmuck with military clearance believed him.
And he had maybe thirty minutes to do it, before nightfall descended. He looked out the window, barely able to make out the looming full moon…