The moon, a delicately arched crescent, was weeks away from being full. It was not time to hide. She was not transforming. Her monthly battle with rapid hair growth, insatiable hunger, and extreme irritability was not the issue. Still, Clawdeen Wolf was in a dark ravine, running for her life.

Clawdeen: Slow down!

She barked at the five athletic J.Crew catalog–worthy guys who formed a protective rhombus around her as they charged, panting, through the woods. Their mud-stained construction boots pounded the twig-covered earth with tireless determination. Not a minute passed without one of them vowing to keep Clawdeen safe, pledging to sacrifice his life for hers. It would have been extremely sweet, romantic, even, if they were contestants on The Bachelorette. But since they were her brothers, it was getting super annoying.

Clawdeen: My feet are killing me!

Howldon, aka Don, the oldest triplet by sixty-eight seconds, peered over his shoulder and looked down, fixing his orange-brown eyes on Clawdeen’s pointy-toed gold ankle boots.

Don: I’d kill you too if you stuffed me into those things.

He turned to face the thicket ahead.

Don: It’s like the shoemaker only made room for one toe.

Howie, the middle triplet, snickered. If Howleen, or Leena, the youngest triplet, had been there, she would have seen Don’s insult and doubled it. Leena, whose nickname rhymed with mean-a for a reason, had boot issues of her own, thanks to Arrowhead Boot Camp. While Clawdeen suffered from blisters, Leena’s pain came from a drill sergeant, five AM whistles, and group meetings about anger management. Ahhhh…just thinking about her certifiable sister’s yearlong sentence brought relief.

Clawdeen: They didn’t come from a shoemaker! They were designed by L.A.M.B.

Clawnor: Is that why you’re running so baaaaaaaad?

His nickname was Nino because he tended to be “windy,” like El Niño.

The Wolf brothers laughed.

Clawdeen: What’s your excuse?

But she already knew. Her sensitive canine ears heard the curses Nino muttered every time he ran into a branch.

Now thirteen, her youngest brother’s fur was coming in fast. Nino’s bushy brows, sideburns, and tangles of black hair undulated in front of his dark eyes like sea grass. It was nothing a bobby pin or styling products couldn’t fix, but Nino refused. He had waited all his life for big-boy fur and wasn’t about to let a few thwacks in the face bully him back to baldness.

Clawdeen: Owie.

Clawdeen whimpered. The sting of a heel rubbed raw slowed her sprint to a gallop. Is it hard to get blood out of leather? If only Draculaura were here. She’d know. But none of her friends were around. That was the problem....well, one of them.

Rocks: Keep moving, Clawdeen.

Rocks ended up grabbing her wrist to pull her along. Leaves and long shadows blurred into bands of darkness.

Rocks: We’re almost there.

Clawdeen: This is so stupid.

She limp-ran, holding up her purple halter dress.

Clawdeen: We don’t even know if anyone is chasing us and.....

Rocks: No, what’s stupid is a girl running in lamb’s boots. They were obviously made for hooves, not toes.

The boys howled with laughter. Clawdeen might have chuckled too if her feet weren’t throbbing like techno. Instead, Rocks’s insane remark became an excuse to stop running and glare at him.

The boys howled with laughter. Clawdeen might have chuckled too if her feet weren’t throbbing like techno. Instead, Rocks’s insane remark became an excuse to stop running and glare at him.

Born Howlmilton, Clawdeen’s younger brother got his nickname because of his dumb-as-rocks comments. But what he lacked in smarts, he made up for in speed, record-breaking, jowl-dropping, thirty-five-miles-per-hour speed. All he had to do to stay on the school track team, and retain his star status, was get straight Ds. Which he did, making the family’s fastest member also the slowest.

Howie: Keep moving!

They took a lot of crap from the other Monsters for their birth names. But deep down, they had similar objections. Because, seriously, what had their parents been thinking? It’s not like all normie kids were named Norman, Norma, Normandy, or Normiena. So why the need to force Howl and Claw on the Wolf kids? Being a girl with a hairy neck was embarrassing enough. Couldn’t her parents have at least tried to make life less mortifying?

Rocks smacked Clawdeen’s butt playfully.

Rocks: Giddyup, lamb.

Growling, she started limping forward again, silently cursing the day for not turning out the way it was supposed to.

Thursday, October fourteenth, I curse you! You tricked me! From now on, my year has three hundred sixty-four days.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. The itinerary had been solid. After school and a rigorous body wax, she, Draculaura, and Lagoona would take a limo to the Oregon sand dunes. There, they would meet up with Cleo and the accessories editor for Teen Morgue. First, a team of hair and makeup artists would glam Clawdeen, Lagoona, and Cleo into models. Under Draculaura’s direction, stylists would adorn them in priceless jewels exhumed from Cleo’s aunt’s tomb.

Next, the famed photographer Kolin VanVerbeentengarden would photograph them on camels for a fashion editorial layout on Cairo couture. After a toast to their futures in fashion, they would sneak tiny sips of champagne, aka “model water”, then limo back to Salem. The next day would be spent delighting their classmates with enviable anecdotes from the set. Months later, their exotic beauty would be available on newsstands everywhere, printed on high-gloss paper and bound by Condé Nast.

But the trio had never even made it to the sand dunes. They never got glammed. They never sipped model water. And they would never be printed on high gloss.

Rue you, October fourteenth!

During the ride down, she, Draculaura, and Lagoona were searching the limo’s flat screen for TMZ when they happened upon a special called “The Ghoul Next Door.” It featured all three of them, plus Clawdeen’s brother Clawd and many of their friends. The never-before-seen glimpse into the secret lives of Salem’s monsters was supposed to air only if their faces were blurred, homes obscured, and names omitted.

But there it was, clear as Crystal Light. In high def, no less. Not a single blur. Not a single black box. Their true identities, identities the Monsters had struggled to keep hidden for generations, were broadcast all over town. Now, instead of celebrating at a wrap party, she was under wraps, limp-running all the way to the Wolf family’s hideout.

Thursday the fourteenth is the new Friday the thirteenth!

Their faces were sure to be on the Internet and the AP wire by now. And the worst part? Cleo de Nile, Clawdeen’s ex–best friend, must have had something to do with it. Because if proof really was in the pudding, this was one lumpy dessert.

Lump 1: Frankie Stein had played a big role in producing “The Ghoul Next Door,” earning her major popularity points with the monsters. Cleo’s queen bee status was threatened, so she was determined to take Frankie down.

Lump 2: Cleo had turned her back on the monsters and become overnight besties with that Lilith Hellscream girl, a normie who was out to destroy you....or kiss you. Clawdeen still wasn't sure.

Lump 3: Cleo had refused to be in “The Ghoul Next Door,” proving she knew it would expose the monsters.

It was hard to imagine Cleo jeopardizing the entire monster community. But as Clawdeen’s mother always said, “People do unimaginable things when they’re insecure. Look at Heidi Pratts.” Clawdeen got squirmy when her trying-to-be-hip mother referenced pop culture, especially when she got celebrities’ names wrong. But Harriet was right: Cleo’s insecurities, like Heidi’s, had driven her toward the unimaginable.

Still, how could she?

Clawdeen began picking up speed, trying to outrun her rage. Popped-blister pain was minor compared to the sting of a stab in the back. Her high heels were sinking into the soft earth, and her C cups were in a turbulent state. Pumas and a sports bra would have made a world of difference, but she had been forced into exile the moment she stepped out of the limo. By then the show had already aired, and the monsters were fleeing.

Claqdeen: Couldn’t we have packed a bag or two, at least?

Don: Couldn’t you have not gone on TV?

The honor roll student did make a good point, as usual.

Clawdeen: I didn’t know we were being set up!

Don: You should have. A monster hunter was filming it. A monster hunter.

Clawdeen: Clawd did it too.

Don would never get mad at Clawd, he was the oldest.

Clawd: I did it to watch over you.

A star football player, he was better at short sprints than long distances.

Clawd: To make sure it wasn’t a trap.

Howie: And how did that work out?

Clawd smacked him playfully on the arm. Howie smacked him back.

Clawdeen missed her girls already. No more gossip sessions, ab-grabbing laughter, clothing swaps, hair-streaking sleepovers, nail-art contests, or professional waxes at the spa.

She pumped her fists and ran faster. Every twig that snapped beneath Clawdeen’s boots was a closed-minded normie. Banished from our homes. No more Internet. No more television. No more jogging along the river to Blue’s bonzer playlists. Forced into hiding. Living in fear. Clawdeen ran harder. Snap. Snap. Snap.

Birds took off in flaps of panic. Rodents dipped back into their holes. Leaves rustled.

The clearing was visible now. Their mother, Harriet, would be there, anxious to guide them to safety.

Claqdeen: Maybe we should grab Mom and go back home. Maybe it’s time we stood up for ourselves instead of being afraid.....

Howie: We’re not afraid. Dad put us in charge of keeping you and Mom safe while he’s away, that’s all.

Clawdeen rolled her eyes. It was the same story day after day. The boys were supposed to protect the girls. But this girl didn’t want protection. She wanted to go back home and confront Cleo. She wanted to check the mail and see if anyone had RSVP’d to her Sassy Sixteen (because what sixteen-year-old wants to be sweet?). She wanted to take a long, hot shower.

Clawdeen: You guys stay with Mom, and I’ll go back....

Clawd: No. We’re a pack and....

All: Packs stay together.

They had finished, in a mocking tone.

Clawd: Keep going. We’re almost there.

Clawdeen bit her bottom lip and did what she was told. But her tolerance for being babied was wearing as thin as her socks. Forget about protecting her, what about their home? Their individual rights? Their freedom? Those needed protection way more than she did. Besides, things were actually different. They had places they could still go like the Maul or.....Monster High.......

There was nothing. Segregation and separation was all they had to go back to. Their own small communities away from the world. The video was supposed to help fix that. Break the barriers. But look at how that turned out.

Harriet’s athletic silhouette became visible in the distance. As usual, she waved her kids forward, silently urging them to hurry. Going through the motions, Clawdeen picked up her pace, but the flight instinct had yet to kick in. Instead, she wanted to dig in her high heels and fight.

And why shouldn’t she? She was just weeks away from her sixteenth birthday, too old to follow the pack. It was time to take control of her life, to show her family that she was more than just another shiny coat.

It was time for this Wolf and her L.A.M.B.s to stray.
-------------
Drained and aching from what seemed like hours of sprinting and hiding behind trees, cars, and lampposts, Frankie flopped onto a stone couch in the monsters’ underground hideout and surrendered to the weight of her eyelids. As usual, the lair smelled like popcorn and moist earth. The carousel overhead stopped circling at sundown, but familiar voices still swirled all around her. She was not the first to arrive.

Were her parents there? Had they made it safely? Were you really to blame for this?

Frankie tried not to think about him or she’d spark. And she couldn’t spark. She needed to preserve every last drop of energy in case she had to run again.

Her fingers flopped against the tattered hem of her matronly peasant skirt. It felt frayed and muddy—definitely no longer wearable. She grinned weakly. At least some good had come of this.

The underground lair began filling with the usual, albeit panic-stricken, monsters. Too nervous to sit on the stone club chairs, they paced. Their jittery movements blocked and then unblocked the lanterns that hung from ceiling hooks, creating a dizzying strobe effect. Jackson chewed his bottom lip while his mini fan blew the floppy bangs off his forehead. Beside him Lagoona peeled off her fingerless gloves and began slathering her scaly skin with Burt’s Bees moisturizer.

Draculaura, looking even paler than usual, closed her ruby-red parasol and quickly joined their tight cluster. Julia greeted them with her endearing zombielike stare behind her cat-eye glasses.

Ordinarily, bubbly conversation would fizz from their circle and overflow into the room like shaken soda. But tonight conversation was flat. Instead of giggly gossip, they exchanged what-do-we-do-now? glances set to a symphony of nail-biting, toe taps, and muffled sobs.

The sudden knick-knock knick-knock of wooden heels and a waft of amber perfume made everyone look up.

Cleo: Heyyyy.

Ghoukia: Coooool haaaiiir.

The zombie was oblivious to the mounting tension.

Frankie wanted to peek, but opening her eyes had become impossible. She felt as if a dozen chandelier earrings were dangling off her lashes.

Cleo: Thanks! I just came from the Teen Morgue shoot with Deucy.

She paused for a second and then looked over to Frankie.

Cleo: What’s wrong with her?

Billy: She just needs some sleep. She’ll be fine.

Deuce: Really? ’Cause she looks a little green, if you ask me.

Cleo giggled.

Frankie’s fingertips warmed but didn’t spark. If she had a single watt of energy left, she would mummy-wrap the royal rhymes-with-stitch so tight that her fake lashes would pop off. What is she doing here, anyway? She wasn’t even in the video.

Draculaura: What do you want?

Cleo: I came to clear some names. Where’s Clawdeen?

Robecca: No one knows. She’s not answering her phone.

Jackson: Anyway, don’t you mean apologize?

Deuce: Cleo apologize? That’ll never happen.

Cleo: Exactly, Deucey, because I didn’t do anything.

Lagoona: Rubbish! You ruined our lives to impress your new bestie.....

Cleo: Ka!

Cleo stamped her wooden heel.

Cleo: Lilith is not my bestie!

Lagoona: Well, she should be, because we’re done.

Cleo: Will you let me finish?

They were silent.

Cleo: I admit, I was bitter because you chose the movie over my Teen Vogue shoot. I teamed up with Lilith to erase the video from Y/N’s computer so it wouldn’t air. Not cool, I know. All I wanted was to model with my best friends, so, technically, my heart was in the right place.

Ghoulia hummed in approval.

Draculaura: But why team up with Lilith?

Cleo: She knew Y/N’s passwords. Turns out she's crazy obsessed with him, but he made it very clear that she hates him.

Deuce: Like, legitimately hates her.

Jackson: Why didn’t she want the movie to air?

Cleo: Who cares? She had her reasons, but those were mine, okay?

She took a breath and collected herself.

Cleo: Anyway, when I heard Channel 58 wasn’t going to show the video because of the blurs, I thought everything was golden. You guys could model, and I could stop hanging out with that pain in the Aswan, Lilith. I had no idea they were going to put it on TV uncensored. I had nothing to do with that! Swearsies on Ra. I was in the Oregon sand dunes fighting for my life in a camel stampede while this was going down. If Y/N hadn’t filled me in, I never....

Lagoona cut her off.

Lagoona: Oh, quit your earbashing and stick to the point. Did you throw us under the trolley or not?

Frankie wished she could have seen Cleo’s face. No one ever spoke to the royal highness like that.

Cleo: Lilith acted alone. The only thing I did wrong was choose a photo shoot over the cause. That’s it. I would never put any of you in danger. Not even for Teen Morgue. Crown my heart and hope to rot in my tomb.

She paused.

Cleo: Any questions?

No one said a word. Instead, Frankie heard kissy sounds and all-is-forgiven hug purrs.

Ghoulia: Cooooooool haaaiiir.

Cleo giggled.

Cleo: Thanks, Ghoules. But, and I know that none of you want to hear it, but this wasn't Y/N's fault either. He has no ties to Lilith.

Deuce: I can vouch for him too. He wasn't responsible for any of this.

Draculaura pumped her fist with a massive grin.

Draculaura: I knew it! I never doubted him for a second! But, uh, where is he?

Frankie’s body began to hum. White-hot currents zipped along her spine and energized her limbs. Her fingers twitched. Her toes wiggled. Her eyes shot open. Is this how normies feel when they eat sugar?

Her father was leaning over her and squinting intensely, as if trying to read her thoughts.

Iktor: How’s Daddy’s perfect little girl?

Frankie nodded slowly and sat up. Her mother’s warm hands supported her back.

Viktor: We were so worried about you. If Billy hadn’t told us where you were…

Viveka: Frankie, another five minutes and you would have been out. Memory loss, coma…

She shook the horrible thoughts from her mind.

Viktor: Here.

A black quilted handbag with bloodred straps dangled from his index finger.

Viktor: It’s for you.

Confused, Frankie looked back at her mother. The bag was voltage, but it was an odd time for gifts.

Viveka: Go on. Take it.

The lair was teeming with parents racing to embrace their children.

Viktor: It’s a portable amp machine. Keep it close to your body and you’ll stay charged.

Viveka: We modeled it after a Chanel.

Frankie turned the bag around in her hands. It buzzed life. The straps were studded with miniature neck bolts, and the interior had more pockets than her Joie cargoes. She instantly transferred her iPhone 4, black-and-green Harajuku Lovers wallet, rhinestone compact, Fierce & Flawless makeup case, pink Lady Gaga key chain, and bag of assorted saltwater taffy from her now-passé silver backpack. Everything fit beautifully.

Frankie: I adore it with my entire heart space!

Frankie pulling her parents into a gigantic thank-you hug. They smelled like chemicals and gardenias, a scent she had come to associate with love.

Dracula: A rather unusual time for cutesy adolescent expressions and hugs, wouldn’t you agree?

All turned their attention to the tall man that entered the room. Draped in black and with blood red eyes filled with anger, the man silently commanded respect.

Viktor: Forgive us, Mr. D. We were just so happy to see that Frankie was safe and....

Folding his arms across his smooth yet broad chest, Dracula shook his head disapprovingly.

Vikrto: Sorry.

Embarrassed, Draculaura buried her face in her palms. Frankie broke away from her mother and inched toward her friends.

Cleo: How’d he get so bronzed?

Draculaura: Thirty hours straight in a tanning bed.

Frankie: I hate those things. I felt like I was in a coffin.

Cleo and Draculaura giggled.

Cleo: Um, something tells me he’s okay with that.

They giggled again.

Mr. D cleared his throat.

Dracula: I’ll save the scolding for another time. I suppose being forced out of your homes is punishment enough for now. Am I right?

Several parents lowered their heads in shame. Some sniffed back tears. Frankie backed up and hid behind Deuce, just in case Mr. D started looking for a scapegoat. But he didn’t seem concerned with blame. Thankfully, no one did. Blame was a luxury they could no longer afford.

Dracula: I’ve made the necessary arrangements. My brother Vlad will collect your phones and identification. I have arranged for new mobile devices, phone numbers, and IDs for everyone so you can no longer be traced.

Draculaura’s uncle Vlad appeared before Frankie holding open a giant black sack. No taller than five feet, with a mop of gray hair, round tortoiseshell glasses, and a black-and-white formfitting striped tee, he looked like a Happy Meal–sized Andy Warhol.

Vlad: Trick or treat.

The tips of his Crest Whitestripped fangs poking his pillowy bottom lip. Frankie released the phone into the dark sack.

Vlad: Wallet too, Sparky.

Not one for being bullied, Frankie considered zapping his pearly fangs into candy corns. But now was not the time to draw attention to herself. Instead, she pulled out her Monster High ID and dropped it into the bag.

Frankie: The wallet stays with me.

Vlad: Meowww. Feisty Stein has spoken.

Frankie smirked at the nickname; she took it as a compliment. He winked like maybe it was, and then handed her a black envelope.

Frankie: What’s this?

Vlad: Emergency money, new ID, travel itinerary, and a gift card for a new iPhone redeemable at any Apple Store worldwide.

Frankie: Travel itinerary? Where are we going?

Vlad: Make like a librarian and check it out, Feisty.

Uncle Vlad gestured toward the roomful of people still waiting for their envelopes.

Vlad: You’re not my only customer.

He and his ominous black sack moved on to Cleo.

Cleo: Forget it, mister.

She clutched her bag to her chest.

Cleo: I didn’t do anything. I wasn’t even on TV!

Frankie rolled her eyes as she pushed her way to the front of the crowd.

Dracula: A fleet of jets is currently en route. They will be in the usual spot in three hours. You have been guaranteed safe passage from one of my contacts at the FAA. Remain here until that time. No one is to return home. It’s not safe.

Murmurs swelled.

Minotaur: What’s going to happen to Salem when we leave? Who’s going to run my restaurant?

The atmosphere quickly shifted from conflict to panic. These were high-powered people, beholden not only to one another but to the entire community. Did Mr. D really expect them to drop everything and leave? Who would take their places? How would society function without them? And what would become of those left behind?

Maddy: Well, I’m not taking any chances. Deuce and I are going back to Greece.

Cleo: What? Why didn’t you tell me?

Deuce: I literally just found out.

Cleo: How long will he be gone?

Maddy: As long as it takes. Normies all over the world now know who we are. We need to be with family, they’re the only ones we can trust.

Jackson: That’s not true. There are a lot of normies out there who support us.

Draculaura: Yeah! Like Y/N and his uncle!

Coarl: Well, Lagoona is going back to her parents in Bells Beach.

At that, the sea creature broke into salty sobs. The dry scales on her cheeks glistened beneath her tears. Her aunt’s hushed promises of daily surf sessions and sunset swims along the Great Barrier Reef brought Blue momentary solace, but then the notion of leaving her friends and missing Clawdeen’s Sassy Sixteen tore her up all over again.

Fights were breaking out all around Frankie. Parents and kids argued over their futures as Uncle Vlad pried phones from their hands.

Draculaura: Does this mean I’m coming to meet you on the yacht, Daddy?

Her voice was sweetened with hope.

Dracula gave her a look.

Draculaura looked down at the fuchsia ribbon laces in her combat boots. After a moment she lifted her moist eyes.

Draculaura: So I’m staying here? With Uncle Vlad?

Mr. D shook his head.

Draculaura: Why not? I’m not like you. I don’t show up on camera. No one saw my face.

Dracula: They know where we live.

Draculaura: But.....

Dracula: You’ll have fun in Transylvania.

Draulaura: No. Not the grimparents, please!

Dracula: Stop calling them that. You’ll be safe there. If you’re lucky, they might even teach you a thing or two about being responsible and taking charge.

Vlad rolled his eyes, taking the dig personally.

Draculaura: They drink meat shakes and stay inside all day!

Dracula: So, they’re a little old-school.

Draculaura: Dad, when I told Grumpa I wanted to be a veterinarian, he said I already was because I don’t eat meat. He doesn’t even know the difference between a veterinarian and a vegetarian!

Dracula: They raised me right, didn’t they?

Draculaura didn’t respond.

Dracula: Hang in there.

Lagoona: Pun intended.

Dracula: Grandpa’s just teasing you. Give them a chance.

Draculaura: But, Daddy....

Dracula suddenly looked up. He scanned the room before his voice boomed.

Dracula: Where is Y/N?

Silence filled the room as all the monsters looked to their leader.

Coarl: Y/N? Van Helsing? He's the cause of all of this!

Dracula: No. He wasn't. I personally oversaw his work.

The news shocked the crowd. It was true. Dracula was the first to see the video. When it was blurred and the way it was intended. It was true, and it was pure. But, more than that, he swore to protect you.

A vow made not to your Uncle or Bloodgood. A vow he made to an old friend.

Dracula: Now, I ask again. Where is Y/N?!