“Of course,” I lie. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I am worried about it. Don’t tell me not to be worried. I’m worried.”

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll be there. I promise.”

“I want this to be over,” she says. “I’m so uncomfortable.”

“I know. I’m sorry. A few more days.”

She looks at me. “I love you, but can you go away?”

“Sure,” I say. I check my calendar to confirm what I already know. It’s six days until the full moon. “I guess I will try it, then. Wish me luck.”

“I’ll check on you, okay?”

I give her a double thumbs-up and then head upstairs to the bathroom. I hold the vial away from me as I unscrew it. I’ve reread Mia’s note a thousand times. A drop under the tongue. There’s an etching on the dropper to indicate where I need to fill it to. I let some liquid out so it only goes up to that line.

I hesitate. Should I really be trusting Mia on this? She bit me and turned me into a werewolf, and either she really didn’t know or she pretended not to. Why should I believe she wants to help me, not hurt me?

I have good reason to doubt, but I’m running out of time until my next transformation and I need to explore all my options.

I curl my tongue back and press down on the dropper.

I feel a slight splash.

It’s boiling.

I scream, but no sound comes out. I just barely get the dropper back in before collapsing to the floor, pawing at my mouth, my extended tongue. My mouth is on fire, but the rest of me is freezing cold, like I’ve just fallen into icy water. I thrash around, my whole body spasming. I’m too dizzy to stand.

I clutch my throat. I can’t breathe.

I roll onto my stomach and pull myself forward on my elbows, seal-crawling across the floor. I hurl myself at the door, summoning enough strength to twist the knob. I spill out into the hall and squirm to my room, desperate to get under the covers. I’m so cold. I’m so cold.

I kick the door shut behind me, not wanting Scarlett or Matty or Reaper or anyone to witness this. Drool flecked with silver blood soaks the carpet in my wake like a slime trail.

I’m too woozy to make it onto the bed; instead I pull down the blankets and burrow on the floor. I drift in and out of restless sleep.

At some point, Scarlett knocks on my door. “You okay?”

“Alive,” I say, the word splitting my chapped lips.

Hours pass. Everything hurts. Everything is sore. My muscles. My bones. My eyeballs. My skin. My teeth. My nipples. My eardrums. Parts of me I didn’t even know I could feel, I feel. Plus, I’ve got the spins.

I reach for my phone, the blankets rubbing my hand raw.

I have a message from Mia. If you feel like trash, it’s working.