Grampire and I watch the sobbing swine, neither of us speaking. Now that it’s clearly in view, I can tell it’s not a normal wild pig. It’s roughly the size of a large male, but it doesn’t have the bristly fur or fine hair. It’s covered in gray, wrinkly, loose skin, but also completely bald. Tears constantly leak from its black eyes, but it has no visible wounds. It wails its chilling cry to the sky, tusks sparkling with the constant stream of tears. Even though I’m in human form, I can smell the faintest hint of magic.

  This is definitely some kind of magical…thing. But what, I have no idea.

  Grampire grimaces at the boar. “That thing better hush ‘fore I give it something to cry about.”

  “Grampire, no! He’s sad.” I inch closer to the wailing pig. I’ve been wary of wild boar ever since Lacey was gored by one, but this doesn’t seem nearly as intimidating as the regular kind. I feel bad that he’s so sad. I crouch so I won’t scare him. “Hey, come here, little guy.”

  “Don’t get too close,” Grampire warns. She’s still not in the clearing. “Looks like it’s got rabies.”

  “Probably not. He’d be trying to bite us instead of crying.”

  “Mange, then.”

  Well, that’s more plausible. I stay quiet and creep closer to the boar. He finally notices and stiffens in alarm. He sniffles pitifully, but doesn’t move any closer.

  “Hey, don’t be scared. We’re looking for a sorcerer. You’re his familiar, maybe?”

  The pig just sniffs at me. He waddles closer, his floppy ears slightly back. I hold out my hand, and he gently places his snout into my palm. It’s immediately covered in tears and mucus.

  “Congratulations,” Grampire says, sarcasm dripping from her words. “You befriended a snotty slab of bacon.”

  “Leave him alone! He’s just a sad little guy.” I pat the top of the boar’s head with my clean hand, and then shudder. His skin is scaly and hard, similar to stone; it’s not at all like the soft skin of a hairless cat like I was expecting. Yuck. “I wish I knew what he was…”

  “One of us, unfortunately,” Grampire grunts. “That ain’t a normal animal.”

  I look into the pig’s tearful dark eyes. “Can you tell me what you are, sir? I’m a werewolf.”

  The pig just snuffles. He digs his weird hand-hooves into the earth and tears fill the shallow grooves with water.

  “That dumb thing can’t answer you,” Grampire says, her voice full of disgust. “It looks like one of the rare ones. What do the kids call them now? Like Bigfoot.”

  “Oh, a cryptid?” I wipe my hand on my shorts, pull out my phone, and hurry to Google. The pig cringes from the light, so I angle the screen away from him. Humans may be clueless about the cleverer supernatural creatures, but they’re pretty good at cataloging cryptids, even if they get the details wrong. I type in “sad crying pig cryptid” to the search bar and Google spits out an answer.

  “It says he’s a Squonk. He’s been seen in Pennsylvania and—oh goddess—he cries because he thinks he’s ugly!” Oh, now I’m gonna cry, this poor thing! I turn to Grampire and poke my lip out. She seems unmoved.

  “It ain’t getting sympathy from me. It’s right, it is ugly.”

  The Squonk cries louder and I gasp. “You hurt his feelings! I’m so sorry, Jimmy, she doesn’t mean it.”

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  “No, don’t do that, don’t name it. We’re not keeping it.”

  I pat Jimmy’s gross, bumpy head and ignore her. “It’s okay, we’ll convince her.”

  “It’s a wild animal!” Grampire rubs her temples. “We’re wasting time. Can you tell if that’s the magic thing we’re looking for? ‘Cause if so, I’m heading home.”

  Now I turn to Grampire, frowning. “He can’t be the sorcerer, right? We should keep looking.” Cryptids aren’t known for their magical abilities. They’re mostly mutated animals from goddess knows where, and the vast majority are extinct (RIP Nessie). If they do have magic, then it’s mostly for them or to manipulate their environment so they don’t get caught. Jimmy may possess a little magic, but he definitely can’t remove my curse.

  Grampire shrugs. “I’m getting the same itchy feeling I get from Jerry, but that could just be the willies. You said you got a good nose, so sniff it out.”

  My heart sinks. If the Squonk does have powerful magic, then…he might be what Phyllis sensed. But there’s only one way to find out.

  I stand and go to Grampire’s side. The Squonk tries to follow me, but I hold my hand out. “Wait a second, Jimmy. I’m gonna change and be right back, okay?”

  Jimmy doesn’t seem to understand. He keeps trotting after me and rubs his head against my shin, flooding my shoes with his tears.

  Grampire rolls her eyes. “I got him. Go get into your wolf clothes so we can go.” Grampire puts one hand on Jimmy’s head. He squeals and trembles, but doesn’t follow me when I hide behind a tree to change out of my clothes. I stow them carefully in my backpack, then shift into a wolf. My eyesight gets worse but my sense of smell explodes, taking in all the wild scents of the forest. And, to my dismay, I’m hit with a wall of magic.

  “Well?” Grampire calls.

  “I can’t be sure, but…” I trail off and trot from behind the tree. Jimmy stiffens when he sees me, then lets out an awful, ear-splitting squeal. He flees at full speed, but rams right into the bigger house in the middle of the clearing. He screams again, and then, before our eyes, dissolves into a puddle.

  Grampire stares at the now-puddle pig, slackjawed. “I guess that answers that.”

  I sigh. I don’t need to, but I approach the puddle formerly known as Jimmy and sniff at the edge. The viscous water reeks of salt, musk, and magic. It’s a spicy, ominous scent that wrinkles the nose. It takes a lot to make an entire body disappear, so I bet that’s the concentration of magic Phyllis sensed. Maybe there is a sorcerer, but they’re probably not in these woods, and it’s definitely not this Squonk.

  One dark eye floats to the surface of the water and blinks at me. I shake off the disappointment and lean closer.

  “It’s okay, Jimmy. It’s just me! I said I’m a werewolf, remember?”

  The water quivers, and a snout emerges. Grampire fake-gags behind me. The puddle creases in the middle, and then slowly, Jimmy’s body rematerializes. Water forms his wrinkly body in a wet outline, then dries quickly in the summer heat. My tail wags as he snuffles closer and lets out a soft squeal.

  “Are you sure we can’t keep him?” I ask Grampire. “He’s an animal shapeshifter!”

  She stares at Jimmy with abject disgust. “I’m sure. I’m also sure there’s no magic man out here, just the pig.”

  My ears droop. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Grampire’s expression finally softens. “It’s alright. Life’s a marathon, not a sprint. We’ll find one.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed and take a breath. I know she’s right, but I was so sure…Eventually, we’ll find someone to remove the curse, but how long is eventually? How long will I be banished from my family? I don’t want to go home eventually. I want to go home now.

  I feel a rough, cold hand on my head and I open my eyes. Grampire smiles down at me, her gold fang standing out in my grayscale vision. “Come on, let’s go back. You haven’t eaten the rest of the beef jerky yet.”

  My tail thumps against the ground without my permission, some of the stress easing. There’s nothing to be done about Phyllis’s mistake now, and I’m starting to get hungry. I’ll have dinner and sleep, and everything will be better in the morning. “Thanks, Grampire. But we can’t leave—”

  A loud bark cuts me off. All three of us freeze, and then Jimmy starts sobbing uncontrollably, letting out a horrible shriek. The barks turn more frantic and grow closer by the second. The wind changes direction, and I’m flooded with the worst scent I could smell right now.

  “Am I gonna have to crush some wolf skulls?” Grampire says, her eyes narrowed.

  My ears pin back to my head, my fur already standing on end. My nose wrinkles without my permission. “No. That’s a dog, not a wolf.”

  “Oh.” Grampire relaxes, but I don’t. I meet her eyes as baying grows louder and reverberates through the silent forest.

  “Grampire, it’s a hunting dog. Which means hunters are right behind it.”

  Grampire looks at me, then the squealing pig beside us, which even humans hunting for wild hogs can hear by now. And me again, in full wolf form and no time to change before the dog bursts into the clearing.

  “Well, shit.”