The Thing About Weres

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To these people I owe my gratitude:

Deidre Knight—a wonderful person and a hugely supportive agent.

Holly Blanck—my talented, keen-eyed editor who has lots and lots of patience.

Bella Pagan—my clever UK editor, whose request yielded a prologue I really like.

Angela Zoltners—cheerleader and champion of the missing word.

Rebecca Melson—the friend who’s willing to read that first wretched draft.

Sandra Krecisz—this well-loved girl comes up with perfect names.

Stephanie Seebeck DiSandolo & Amanda Seebeck—More names! More love!

Julie Butcher—who listened to me whine. Over and over again.

My family—last but never least.

I don’t know why Weres think the moon’s so beautiful. Look at it. The thing’s rutted with craters. Not once have I gazed at it and wanted to let loose a wolf howl or break into a melancholy chorus of “Moon River.”

Most nights, I refuse to give it more than a brooding glance. Matter of fact, most of the time, I make a point of not looking upward. I keep my eyes trained on the life around the pond and the dead air above it.

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