Her legs stretched, her fingernails shortened and her torso tightened. Ragged breath slowed as she resumed her body’s mandatory, once-a-year shape: her natural, human, female form. Curls fell back to her shoulders in soft ringlets to match the midnight sky; her skin toasted a light rouge. The telltale sign of her kind firmed her pupil into a hard, vertical line around which irises of lavender glistened.

Raps on the window abated.

Eyes closed, Charley’s agony retreated. She fumbled for the door handle but stopped herself. If she left the confines of the car, she’d stagger like a drunken teenager and risk exposure.

She took a few steadying breaths. Eyes not yet focused, she could make out only the shadow at the trunk of one car while a second remained at the side of hers. Their voices pitched back and forth to each other, called out ‘Stuart’ as the other said, ‘Wyatt.’

Charley reached for the handle and pushed at the door as lights from another car burned their way down the mountain.

She struggled to a stand and leaned against the side of her car as James’s truck skidded to a stop at her back bumper. Pebbles dinged into her car as exhaust, mixed with the cool temperatures of the night, enveloped her.

Her legs wobbled, vision wavered. The heavy beams of the lights lit the area as well as a dozen flood lamps. The boys, the cars and James came into focus. He rushed to her side, Wyatt and his friend in his wake.

“Get back in the car, Charley.” James’s tone mixed anger with worry as she clung to his arms and dropped her head to his shoulder.

The look in his eyes suggested he understood what Charley already recognized.

One of the boys spoke before she could respond. “I’m sorry. I thought… well, the door was stuck.” His voice, so clear and deep, graced her ears like an old lover whispering his thoughts.