It was hot and humid that day, stickier than usual, but that could be said for most days in the Bayou. Still, a cold drink would have been perfect right about then, but Cora had a thing about me running in and out of the kitchen, which I had already done twice. So I suffered in silence and went outside to see what my other sister was up to.

I didn’t get very far before Cora yelled out my full name, "Leanna Christine Belle." I had left the screen door open. She had a thing about that too. Cora was the oldest, not old-old, but cousin Perry joked that she was turning into a spinster. Tall and handsome, in a good way, Cora was more mother than a sister. I yelled back, "sorry," and closed the door.

Georgia was on the porch, sitting in the rocker, dressed in her Sunday best. That would have been fine if it was Sunday. Add that to Cora’s list too. At first glance, my sisters and I look nothing alike. Cora is tall, Gigi’s almost a foot shorter, and I fall somewhere in the middle. It was the same way with our coloring. Cora had pale skin, just like our mother’s picture above the fireplace, Georgia, a deep brown and mine, middlin’ still, but if one looked long enough, they’d see we had the same light brown eyes.

Georgia was my favorite sister if one is allowed to say such things. Even though she was closer in age to Cora, She didn’t mind getting down on the ground to play jacks with me. I was hoping she would play that day. I walked to the railing and leaned over it with my legs up in the air. "Whatcha doing, Gigi?" I said, calling her by her nickname. "Waiting," said Gigi. I asked her for what? Gigi corrected me saying not what but whom. I rolled my eyes. Gigi had graduated from the eighth grade and thought she knew everything.

I see-sawed on the railing, wondering who was whom? We hadn’t had company in almost two winters. Not since that colored soldier came through with the news that the war was finally over. After that, folks started packing up and heading either North for a fresh start, or South, to find family members who had been sold off. The only people around were mean old Mr. Robicheaux, who was almost blind, and cousin Perry, who was, well, cousin Perry.

Okay, I said. Who is whom? Gigi looked at me with a faraway look in her eyes and answered, "The man from my dreams."

When Gigi spoke like that, it wasn’t good.

Cora called them premonitions. I called it crazy talk. I didn’t mean anything by it, but back then, my eleven-year-old mind had a hard time understanding the real world, let alone the spirit one. Gigi had been talking crazy just before our father died. I never knew my mother, but something tells me Gigi was probably talking crazy then too.

I ran inside the house, yelling Cora’s name. When Cora and I came back outside, Gigi was standing up, staring out at something in the distance. Cora and I fixed our eyes in the same direction.

It was a large white wolf, and its body seemed to ripple as it got closer. Fur peeled off by the handful while four legs became two. Its snout withdrew inside itself, making a mouth. Its forelegs grew longer, sprouting fingers, and the fur on top of its head changed into beautiful, long, white hair. The wolf who was now a man was naked as the day he was born, and when he stopped in front of the steps, he opened his mouth and said, "Hello." 

Next Chapter: The Beast Within