Chapter 1

Closing the solid bedroom door with a sneakered foot, she swung the full-to-bursting suitcase, its considerable weight managed with both hands, just high enough to clear the double-size bed and settle heavily with a bounce and a muffled creak. The dimly lit house was difficult to navigate, especially on a first visit, and the girl toted her luggage patiently until finally led up to the second floor by way of a tediously long staircase and assigned what was to be her room for the next three months. Feeling haphazardly for a lightswitch, the small bedroom suddenly filled with a golden, incandescent glow from the lamps sitting attendant at either side of the headboard, itself laden with pillows of various sizes, only half of which (by her estimate) were actually meant to be used. Then, freeing herself of the comparably light backpack, a voice called flatly from just across the solid wood door.

“Let me know if you need anything during the night. Sleep well, Evelyn."

She lowered her backpack against the bedpost nearest her, letting the burden drop the last few inches to the well-worn floorboards with a thud. “I will. Goodnight, Mom!"

Evelyn tugged at her hair tie and, sliding off the blue elastic, brushed her hands, fingers spread, through long, tawny tresses. As the pressure on her scalp receded, she loudly exhaled the tightness built up in her chest. It was a long drive from Bayfield, and even longer from Geneva College, where she'd just finished her freshman year. The two of them together for the whole drive. She loved her mother dearly, to be sure, but very quickly missed the freedom a little geographic distance afforded.

She took stock of the small bedroom, trying her best to imagine it as a personal refuge for the summer. In the far corner, there was what looked at first like a writing desk, and she was relieved for the amenity, even if the small oval mirror reflecting golden light pegged it as a vanity. The rest of the house, a two-story, something-odd-bedroom country manor nestled idyllically in the Anitowak hills, boasted rooms arranged with ostentatious appointments that evoked a sense of days gone by, decidedly Old World in nature.

Five hours in that fucking car with her.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Evelyn pried off one sneaker with the toe of the other, repeated the process, and slowly surveyed the rest of the room. She noticed a small collection of books peeking from the top of the sturdy upright dresser sitting directly opposite her. This suddenly brought to mind her own reading assignments and, still seated, she leaned way down to masochistically pull a textbook from the slumping backpack. She'd agreed (at her mother's plea) to get an early start on next semester's work, especially in the denser subjects, which, her mother warned, have an insidious tendency to overwhelm the unprepared student as the weeks go on, until she suddenly finds herself caught in the academic undertow and unable to summon the mental wherewithal (let alone the time) to keep from drowning altogether. Her mother enjoyed these bitter metaphors. Even so, it seemed unlikely to Evelyn that any other rising sophomore would be so rabidly prepared, but in cases like these it was easier to at least give a show of daughterly compliance than to argue the point.

The book's cover was only one tepid degree above purely functional, featuring an undulation of parallel bars that made some attempt at aesthetic redemption for the sake of the prospective reader, however obligated she might actually be to invest in its contents. Evelyn furrowed her brow opening the book for the first time, a plastic smell rising from the glossy pages of “Introduction to Probability Theory." The course was neither required nor especially relevant to her studies, but she heard it was an easy A. Evelyn's mother didn't believe in easy A's. She closed the textbook and decided not to get too fatalistic about her summer in the country. Especially not on the very first night. She turned again to the reading material sitting atop the dresser and deciphered a few plain titles in large text: “Rodin", “Matisse", “Manet" . . . Names she recognized as belonging to prolific modern artists, but knew little more. If the studying became unbearable, at least there were alternatives at hand.

The manor belonged to a Mr. W.H. Demeler, whom Evelyn had met only once half-a-decade ago (and briefly), but who was a good friend of both her parents, and only getting better in the relative freedom of post-retirement. He was summering with his own family in southern Europe and needed a volunteer to look after the house for a few months. The gardens would be taken care of, so they need only make themselves at home and keep the place lively. Her parents agreed enthusiastically and only surprised Evelyn with the plan as she began finals (the week prior). She felt a little manipulated into the arrangement and liked to think she would have countered with her own plans if they'd included her in the decision-making process; but truthfully, she had none, and as long as there was space to catch up on reading and do a little creative writing of her own, she supposed she'd get by. Her father would be joining them in a week or so, and then only for a week until he was pulled away for another trip. In the meantime, the two women only needed to get settled in.

Moving to close the curtains, Evelyn paused in the eerie brightness from the other side of the double windows. The waxing moon rose over the expanse of the gardens behind the manor and cast a pale, luminous glow over its hedges and terra cotta pathways. Approaching fullness, it appeared to her like a white peach, with a fuzzy halo, not quite round. The garden was a matrix of hedges and topiaries, all peaceful and still in the early summer night amidst the chorus of crickets and the stone fountain, which bubbled continuously. Beyond the garden, gentle hills sprawled out, soaked in that same moonlight, disappearing into the blackness of the forest.

Evelyn found herself tracing the contours of her neck at the place they met the collar of her sage green t-shirt. She was lost for a moment in the nocturnal vista from her second-floor room. In her adulthood, young as it was, Evelyn privately noticed a recurrent, listless tugging that seemed to rise with the full moon, pulling at something she couldn't even name and didn't know how to satisfy. A feeling, beyond any clear perception, that might nearly have made her believe in lycanthropy. And, for fear of undoing the magic with any serious self-examination, she instead stayed there quietly and basked in its spell, idly thumbing the supple skin at her collarbone beneath the cotton hem.

Then, for half a second, a tailed shape appeared at the corner of her eye – something that quietly flashed in and out between the furthest hedges. Evelyn was immediately back in the moment, her eyes now scanning the garden intently for signs of movement. Again, further along, the flash of a figure low to the ground and on all fours appeared and then silently vanished behind the hedges. She bit her lip expectantly, waiting by the window, perfectly still . . .

Finally, the figure moved into full view and Evelyn's eyes were locked on it. Crouched on all fours, it suddenly rose to stand upright; the tall alert ears and ruddy fur, tinted silver in the moonlight, pegged him unmistakably as a coyote. Evelyn had never seen one in person but, moving easily on two legs and wearing absolutely nothing but his summer-short fur, she could quickly make out that he was, in fact, a 'he'. With wide eyes, she followed the coyote-person as he stalked winding paths around the hedges, ears cocking in all directions to keep tabs on the sounds of the night and, very suddenly, he let out an abbreviated “yip!" as one of his packmates leaped directly on him.

A stunned Evelyn gasped on her side of the window, while down below the coyote pair tumbled over one another before rapidly splitting off to their own corners of the garden. They stalked each other like this several times, laughing whenever one pinned the other, or came close to it. At one point, a third appeared out of the furthest hedges and quickly joined the hunt, clearing a dark bush nimbly with a surprisingly high jump, prompting another “yip!" as he cut off his packmate. Evelyn lingered on the playful drama unfolding as the coyotes chased each other, on two legs as often as four, easily navigating the expansive maze of the garden below, their only clothing the light of the nearly-full moon and seeming absolutely at-home in it.

One of the coyotes reappeared in the tiled clearing that served as the hub of the garden and ran straight for the fountain, nails faintly scraping the ceramic, and jumped right onto its broad concrete ledge. His pale-furred chest heaved, his muzzle a wide smile as he panted in exhilaration. Crouching low, he drank readily from the bubbling water shimmering silver with the moon's reflection, over and over drawing cupped hands eagerly to his mouth. Evelyn leaned forward, elbows resting on the windowsill that was bumpy with the strata of paint over decades-old, chipped paint. And when she did, the coyote turned abruptly to face her. The breath suddenly caught in her lungs. It occurred to Evelyn that she must be framed quite starkly in the window, a small figure peering down surrounded by the incandescent glow of the room. She froze, feeling suddenly caught in her voyeuristic admiration. But instead of running off, the coyote continued to watch her, sitting there on his haunches, back straight, alert but not threatened . . . Across the distance, the girl felt their eyes meet and her heart pounded audibly. The moment stretched on and Evelyn was surprised by a growing sense of intimacy, feeling connected in some way to the coyote, locked in his unflinching gaze, and dared not to move lest she disturb the fragile moment. She imagined herself next to him, lapping carelessly from the fountain, and suddenly ached for it — to be there with them.

Someone yipped from the cover of the carefully manicured hedges and, whining in response, the coyote boy's attention was fully diverted. He rose upright to jump from the fountain and, moments later, returned with his packmates into the night. Evelyn scanned the vacated garden for a few minutes longer before sighing loudly and falling back, sinking deeply into the plush comforter of the bed. The magic of the moment washed over her and she smiled silently, replaying it all in her mind.

Finding herself very much in the bedroom again, Evelyn resolved to get changed and call it a night. Sitting up, she caught her dim reflection in the mirror on the vanity. With the hair tie out, her hair billowed down messily to her shoulder blades. She paused, neutral and open-mouthed, to study herself in the small, brass-framed ellipse. Running both hands roughly against the lay of her hair, she turned back to see an instantly wilder version of herself — a girl she tried to imagine transfigured and out there among the coyotes. Wow, you totally look like an animal. She laughed at the thought and finally rose to get dressed for bed.

Piles of clothes spilled from the open suitcase, but Evelyn dug around until she found, first, a pair of inches-long, breezy cotton shorts and, second, an overly long t-shirt with a faded nautical logo, so long it almost rendered the shorts unnecessary. This kind of sleepwear was something of a de facto uniform in the dorms, and she'd quickly gotten used to the ensemble. The girl wiggled out of her light-wash denim, checking the window but opting not to bother drawing the curtains. If it's only coyotes out there, it's nothing they haven't seen before. Or, like, all the time. She huffed, stripping off the rest of her outfit piece by piece, tossing it all to the floorboards. Then, stretching the shorts out in front of her, orienting front to back, she paused. Hesitating for a long moment, standing there suddenly very much nude, she felt the air of the room very clearly, presently, languid and warm in the early summer night, and goosebumps rose on her skin. She turned around thoughtfully and approached the large dresser opposite the bed, bare feet padding softly on the well-worn hardwood floor and, as she suspected, the bronze-handled door opened to reveal a half-length mirror mounted on its other side. Evelyn took a few careful steps back to examine her reflection, still clutching the crumpled cotton modestly in front of her with both hands. Breathing deeply and forcing her arms to relax to her sides, she let the shorts fall to the floor noiselessly, eyes all the while on the naked figure looking back at her, long hair frayed and feral, all golden in the tungsten glow.

She faced herself straight on and plainly; this kind of privacy had been rare enough the past year, so she lingered for a while. Going into college, her build was already on the northern border of what could be called “athletic", and she ended the year plus her Freshman Fifteen. Hmm, fifteen might be a little forgiving, she mused, stroking the bare skin of her hips. During that five-hour drive, her mother managed to work in no less than three obliquely offered suggestions that Evelyn might benefit from the university fitness center, and that she might even like it were she to give it a try; each request was met with tepid promises of daughterly compliance. But with a little extra weight, Evelyn's breasts had filled out noticeably and now hung ever so slightly. She secretly felt they better suited the already-larger-than-average areolas rosily capping each one, plump nipples roused firmly with her goosebumps. Her waist curved in before swelling again at her new hips, and she stood straight with her long legs plainly together, down to the heels of her firmly planted feet. Between her soft thighs, Evelyn's pubic hair had grown in again; on a few occasions in the past year, she'd taken a doubly long session in the shower stall to shave herself clean, experimenting with the look and feel of a naked vulva (and inevitably, a few days later, there was a feel that really couldn't be ignored). She gathered that many of the other girls shaved regularly for the benefit of would-be boyfriends (or girlfriends, for that matter). But as a not-entirely-willing virgin, Evelyn didn't share that same motivation, only twice giving anyone at the college occasion to see whether she shaved or not; and one of those times was during her standard physical. But standing there, she enjoyed the little blonde patch growing thickly between her legs, and with the coyotes still frolicking in her mind, she felt something exhibitionistically primal about her natural fluff.

Moving her hands forward, Evelyn pressed extended fingers against her soft pubic mound and tugged upward revealingly. Her clitoris had swollen in the course of her self-examination and peeked prominently from its narrow cleft. Her attention quickly shifted to the rising heat between her legs and she spread herself to reveal vividly pink lips of glistening skin. She dragged a finger teasingly between her labia, ending up slick by the time it greeted her firm nub, poking stiffly and provocatively from its hood. Back in the dorms, she masturbated almost as often as she could, usually in the mornings when her roommate was off taking a shower and wasn't expected back for at least a certain amount of time. On one occasion, the line must have been especially long, and she returned in defeat only minutes later to find Evelyn sprawled in bed plunging a rubber phallus between her legs with such confident vigor that it was several oblivious seconds before she finally noticed the wide-eyed girl. This was the second time anyone saw the status of her pubic grooming. She was sporting only stubble.

The accidental show had left them both tremendously red-faced, but Evelyn would later learn that her roommate swung equally both ways, and this somehow made her feel better about the event. She already missed the well-used dildo, which, upon her departure, she had ruefully donated to the Geneva Municipal Solid Waste Service for fear of it being discovered by her mother. Now in her own room, she watched herself run delicate fingers over spread lips with little anxiety. She imagined the coyotes outside in their constant, communal, naked display and shuddered with the timid desire to be out there in the fields, running with them through the warm air, clad only in moonlight. A finger teased tight circles over the entrance of her vagina as she closed her eyes and wrestled with the coyote boy, tumbling in the grass, free and wild under a star-spattered sky. She was clenching and unclenching, eager to receive, and a heady moan was on the edge of her lips.

And there was a knock, knock, knock at the solid wood door.

Evelyn snapped up her shorts, heart pounding in her ears. Another few knocks.

“Yeah?" she managed, quivering.

Her mother's voice came from the other side, “Do you need any toothpaste, sweetie? I have some if you do."

She gave a long exhale to steady herself before answering, hands clenched. “No, Mom. I brought some."

They bid each other one more 'good night', and Evelyn muffled a whine with her tiny cotton shorts.