Chapter 7 Realizations
Leela opened her mouth to deny it, to tell him he was crazy. But the words died in her throat.
Her mind raced back, flipping through a catalog of "accidents" that she had spent years trying to forget.
Eighth grade. She was at the roller rink for a birthday party. She had gotten into a screaming match with Jess Miller near the snack bar. Leela had been so angry she was shaking, her vision blurring at the edges. Suddenly--BOOM. The transformer on the pole outside the building blew in a shower of sparks. The entire rink went black. The party ended early. Everyone blamed the power company for that one.
Tenth grade. Mr. Granger's calculus class. He had called her to the board to solve an equation she didn't understand. He mocked her silence, making a joke about "Blonde Ambition" that made the whole class titter. Leela had stood there, humiliated. The glass paper weight looked hot. But she hadn't touched it. She hadn't even moved. But suddenly--CRACK. The solid glass split right down the middle with a sound like a pistol shot. No explanation. Just a clean break.
And then, the house.
The endless parade of blown lightbulbs. The toaster that shorted out when she was crying over a breakup. The TV that scrambled in static when her mother started drinking.
"Faulty wiring," Leela whispered, repeating her father;s mantra. "My dad.. he always blamed the wiring in the house. So many blown light bulbs."
"I think you know it wasn't the wiring," Fennigan said. "It was you."
"But I'm not a werewolf," she argued, clutching her towel tighter around her hair. "I don't have a tail. I don't want to eat deer. And neither of my parents are...whatever you are. They're boring. They're miserable. But they're human."
"It's not that simple." Fennigan explained, "It's a bloodline, Leela. It's genetics. Your father probably carries the gene, but it lied dormant in him. It can skip generations, hiding in the DNA until the conditions are right. Someone in your history loved a werewolf."
He gestured to himself, then to her.
A memory surfaced, sharp and painful. A sunday afternoon years ago. She dropped a plate in the kitchen, and it hadn't just broken; it shattered into dust. Her father stormed in, red faced.
"You're just like your grandmother," he had spat at her--referring to his own mother. Clumsy. Waliking disaster. Things were always breaking around her. That she was cursed with bad luck."
"She wasn't cursed," Fennigan said softly. "She must have been a Spark like you."
Leela felt a pang of grief so sharp it almost doubled her over.
"I have know way to ask her about anything." she whispered, her voice cracking. "She died when I was five."
She looked down at her hands. She remembered soft, powder perfume and a lap that felt like the safest place in the world. She remembered a woman who would hum while she braided Leela's hair, the only person in that cold, silent family who had ever looked at Leela and smiled just because she existed.
"She was the only one," Leela said, a tear slipping down her cheek. "She was the only one who made me feel wanted. And she's gone."
Fennigan moved then, He reached out and covered her hand with his. His palm calloused and warm, and anchor in the storm of her memories.
"She's not gone," he said. "She's in your blood. And now, you have us. You have the Pack. You aren't alone anymore, Sparky."
"Sparky?" Leela repeated, looking at him confused. "That sounds like a golden retriever's name."
"It fits," Fennigan insisted, though his expression remained serious. "Because you aren't just a conduit for energy, Leela. You're a wolf and a storm. Plus you blow out light bulbs."
He shook his head, looking at her with a mixture of awe and concern. "I think you don't have your wolf yet because you've been in fight or flight mode all your life."
"Even though I've never shifted," Leela argued. "If I had a wolf inside me wouldn't I know? Wouldn't I have...I don't know, howled at the moon or chased a squirrel?"
"You've been surviving, Leela," Fennigan said gently. "Your wolf is dormant because you were in survival mode. You were so burdened by that house, by the constant need to protect yourself emotionally, that your inner wolf went into hibernation to conserve energy. That's why the magic leaked out as blown light bulbs--it was the pressure valve releasing the excess power."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Butnow you've left. You've stepped out of the cage. Now that the weight is gone, you're going to start feeling it. The itch under your skin. The ache in your bones. The pull to run through the trees on all fours."
Leela looked down at her hands. She thoght about the dream--the feeling of paws digging into the earth, the sheer power her muscles bunching.
:"It scares me." she admitted.
"We;ll help you," Fennigan promised. "When the first shift comes, I'll be right there. We'll get you through it."
They sat there for a moment in the quiet room, Leela trying to process the idea that she wasn't just a runaway, but a powerful, dual-natured supernatural being."
Then the silence broke.
CRUNCH. CRUNCH. CRUNCH.
It was a heavy, rhythmic sound of gravel being pulverized under massive tires. Not one car. Many.
Fennigan froze. His head snapped toward the window, his ears twitching.
"Well, crap," he muttered.
He got up and peeked through the crack in the curtains. He groaned, a long deep sound of pure defeat.
"I was hoping to get you back to the Packhouse before they came looking," he said, rubbing his temples.
"Before who came looking?" Leela asked, standing up.
Before he could answer, the sound of heavy car doors slammed. They echoed through the parking lot. THUD. THUD. THUD.