The Abused Werewolf Rescue Group by Catherine JinksThe Abused Werewolf Rescue Group by Catherine Jinks

The Abused Werewolf Rescue Group

byCatherine Jinks

Paperback | April 30, 2012

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When Tobias Richard Vandevelde wakes up in a hospital with no memory of the nightbefore, his horrified mother tells him that he was found unconscious. At FeatherdaleWildlife Park. In a dingo pen.He assumes that his two best friends are somehow responsible, until the mysteriousReuben turns up, claiming that Toby has a rare and dangerous 'condition.' Next thinghe knows, Toby finds himself involved with a strange bunch of sickly insomniacs whoseem convinced that he needs their help. It's not until he's kidnapped and imprisonedthat he starts to believe them-and to understand what being a paranormal monsterreally means.
Catherine Jinks grew up in Papua New Guinea and now resides in New South Wales, Australia. She is a three-time winner of the Children's Book Council of Australia Book of the Year award and has received the Centenary Medal for her contribution to Australian children's literature. Her popular works for young readers include the Evil Gen...
Title:The Abused Werewolf Rescue GroupFormat:PaperbackDimensions:416 pages, 8.25 × 5.5 × 0.99 inPublished:April 30, 2012Publisher:Houghton Mifflin HarcourtLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0547721951

ISBN - 13:9780547721958


Rated 5 out of 5 by from Evil genius Its areally good book lots of action and a intense story line, it was a riveting read i couldnt put the book down
Date published: 2015-03-24
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Dreaming of Books Review (May contain spoilers) Toby a thirteen year old boy who is found one morning trapped in a dingo pen with no idea how he got there. A priest and another man (claiming to be a werewolf himself) shows up at Toby’s house letting him know about his condition and that he must take precautions. Sceptical at first it isn’t until Toby is kidnapped that he starts to believe and see the danger he’s in. Toby and his friends are silly thirteen year old boys. They always have some scheme whether its pulling pranks or blowing up random things so when he’s told that he’s a werewolf he doesn’t take it too seriously. Instead of keeping it a secret he even tells his two friends about it and the three of them even come up with a prank to get Reuben. The first book followed Nina who is a vampire and this book follows Toby who finds out that he’s a werewolf. Characters from the first book do appear in this book but you don’t have to read the first one to follow along with the story. There’s more action in this book because its about the werewolves this time and they don’t necessarily plan everything out like the vampires did in the previous book. In the end I felt like the bad guys got off pretty lightly. Yes, something bad does happen to them but somehow I felt like it wasn’t enough of a punishment for them. Not sure if there will be another follow up as there’s still room to further advance the story.
Date published: 2011-04-10

Read from the Book

Chapter 1 You’ve probably heard of me. I’m the guy they found in adingo pen at Featherdale Wildlife Park. It was all over the news. If I’d been found in a playground,or on a beach, or by the side of the road, I wouldn’t have scoredmuch coverage. Maybe I’d have ended up on page five of somelocal rag. But the whole dingo angle meant that I got nationalexposure. Hell, I got international exposure. People read aboutme in all kinds of places, like England and Canada and theUnited States. I know, because I checked. All I had to do wasgoogle “dingo pen” and— Pow! There I was. Not that anyone mentioned my name, of course. Journalistsaren’t supposed to identify teenagers. In the Sydney MorningHerald, this is all they said:A 13- year- old boy is in a stable condition at Mount Druitt Hospitalafter being found unconscious in a dingo pen at FeatherdaleWildlife Park, in western Sydney, early this morning. A parkspokesperson says that a dingo in the same pen sustained minorinjuries, which were probably inflicted by another dingo. Policeare urging anyone with information about the incident to contactthem. As you can see, it wasn’t exactly a double- page spread. Andjust as well, too, because when I was found, I was in the buff.Naked. Yes, that’s right: I’d lost my gear. Don’t ask me how.All I know is that I’m the luckiest guy alive. Being Dingo Boywas bad enough, but being naked Dingo Boy would have beenmuch, much worse. I wouldn’t have survived the jokes. Canyou imagine the kind of abuse I’d have copped on my first dayback at school? It would have been a massacre. That’s why I’mso relieved that nobody printed a word about the missingclothes. Or the damaged fence. Or the cuts and bruises. Eitherthe newspapers weren’t interested or the police weren’t talking.(Both, probably.) And I never told anyone that I was naked.Not even my best friends. Especially not my best friends. I mean, I’m not a complete idiot.So there I was, in the dingo pen at Featherdale WildlifePark, and I don’t remember a thing about it. Not one thing. Iremember lying in my own bed at around 10:00 p.m., fiddlingwith a flashlight, and then I remember waking up in hospital.That’s all. I swear to God, I wasn’t fiddling with a tube of glueor a bottle of scotch; it was an ordinary flashlight. Next thingI knew, I was having a CT scan. I was stretched out on a gurneywith my head in a machine. No wonder I panicked. “It’s all right. You’re all right,” people were saying. “Canyou hear me? Toby? Your mum’s on her way.” I think I might have mumbled something about breakfast asI tried to pull offmy pulse oximeter. I was a bit confused. I was,in fact, semiconscious. That’s what Mum told me afterward—and when you’re semiconscious, it’s usually because you’vedamaged your head or your spine. In the ambulance on yourway to hospital, you have to wear an oxygen mask and a neckcollar. And once you reach the Emergency Department, theystart checking you for things like leaking cerebral fluid. (Ugh.) I wasn’t semiconscious for very long, though. At first I didn’tquite know where I was. I couldn’t understand why I was lyingdown or what all the beeping monitors were for. But the fog inmy head soon cleared, and I realized that I was in trouble. Bigtrouble. Again. Just six months before, I’d been in the same Emergency Departmentwith two broken fingers, after my friend Fergus andI had taped roller skates to a surfboard. (I don’t recommendgrass- surfing, just in case you’re interested. It’s impossible tostand up.) So I recognized the swinging doors, and the funnysmell, and the bed- curtains. Even a couple of the faces aroundme were vaguely familiar. “What happened?” I asked as I was being wheeled aroundlike a shopping trolley full of beer cans. “Did I get hurt?” There was a doctor looming over me. I could see straight upher nose. “Don’t you remember?” she said. “Nah.” “What’s the last thing you can remember?” “Umm . . .” I tried to think, but it wasn’t easy. Not while Iwas being poked and prodded by about a dozen differentpeople. “Do you have a headache?” someone inquired. “No.” “Do you feel sick in the stomach?” “A bit.” “Can you look over here, please, Toby? It is Toby, isn’t it?”  “Yeah. Course.” At the time, I thought that they knew mefrom my previous visit. I was wrong, though. They were onlycalling me Toby because Mum had panicked. She’d walked intomy bedroom at 6:00 a.m., seen my empty bed, searched thehouse, realized that I didn’t have my phone, and notified thepolice. I don’t suppose they were very concerned at that point.(It wasn’t as if I was five years old.) All the same, they’d askedfor a name and description. So when I showed up at Featherdale, without any ID, itdidn’t really matter. The police were already on the lookoutfor a very tall, very skinny thirteen- year- old with brown hair,brown eyes, and big feet. One of the nurses told me later that she hadn’t recognizedme when I first came in because there was so much blood anddirt all over my face. “Can you tell us your full name, Toby?” was the next questionpitched at me, from somewhere offto my right. “Uh— Tobias Richard Vandevelde.” “And your address?” I told them that, too. Then I spotted the big jagged cut onmy leg. “What happened?” I said with mounting alarm. “Is Mumall right?” “Your mum’s fine. She’s on her way here now. The policecalled her.” “The police?” This was bad news. This was terrible news.“Why? What have I done?” “Nothing. As far as we know.” “Then— ”  “You’re breathing a bit fast, Toby, so what I’m going to donow is run a blood gas test . . .” I couldn’t get a straight answer from any of them, but Ididn’t want to make a fuss. Not while they were trying to figureout what was wrong with me. They kept asking if I was in pain,and if I could see properly, and if I knew what year it was, andthen at last the crowd around my bed began to disperse. Itdidn’t take me long to realize that people were drifting awaybecause I wasn’t going to die. I mean, I’d obviously been downgradedfrom someone who might spring a leak or pitch a fit atany moment to someone who could be safely left in a holdingbay with a couple of machines and a really young doctor. “Not all of these cuts are going to heal by themselves,” thereally young doctor said cheerfully as he pulled out his box ofcatgut (or whatever it was). “We might give you a local beforewe stitch you up. Do you know when you had your last tetanusshot?” Dumb question. Of course I didn’t. You’d be better offaskingme how many eyelashes I have. “No.” “Fair enough.” He didn’t seem too surprised. “Maybe yourmum can tell me.” “Maybe I can tell you what?” said a voice— and all of a sudden,there was my mum. She’d obviously had a bad morning.Though she was dressed in her work clothes, with earrings andfancy shoes and her good handbag, she hadn’t put on hermakeup or put in her contact lenses. And without makeup orcontact lenses she looks like . . . well, she looks like a nun orsomething. It’s partly because she’s so pale and tired andwashed out and partly because she wears chunky, librarian- styleglasses. “I’m Rowena Vandevelde,” she said. “Is there somethingyou wanted to ask me?” “Oh. Ah. Yes.” The very young doctor forgot to introducehimself. “I was wondering when Toby last had a tetanus shot?” Mum knew the answer to that, of course. She also knew myMedicare number, and the exact date of my last hospital visit,and all the other boring details that I couldn’t have rememberedin a million years. Because she’s a mother, right? It’s herjob to keep track of that stuff. I kind of tuned out while she was debriefing various peoplewith clipboards. I might even have dozed offfor a few minutes,because I was really tired. But I woke up quick smart when thevery young doctor started jabbing needles into me. That wasno fun, I can tell you. And it seemed to last forever, even thoughMum tried to distract me with her questions. The first thing she wanted to know was what happened. “You tell me,” was all I could say. “Don’t you remember?” “Nope.” “Nothing at all?” I shook my head, then winced. “Ouch,” I complained. And the very young doctor said, “Nearly finished.” “What’s the last thing you do remember?” Mum queried.“Do you remember leaving the house?” “No.” A sort of chill ran through me. “Is that what I did?” “You weren’t in bed this morning.” Mum’s voice wobbled abit, but she managed to hold it together. “They found you atFeatherdale.”  “Featherdale?” “In the dingo pen.” I’d better explain that I live quite close to Featherdale WildlifePark, so I’ve been there a few times. And I’ve seen thedingo pen. “Oh, man,” I croaked. It was hard to believe. But one lookat Mum’s face told me that she wasn’t kidding. “Are you sure you don’t know how you got there, Toby?” “Nope.” “Do you remember going to bed?” Casting my mind back, I could recall throwing offmy quiltbecause it was so hot. I’d picked up my flashlight and shone itat the stickers on the ceiling. The fan had been whirling aroundand around overhead. Could it have hypnotized me somehow? “You weren’t very well,” Mum continued. “That’s why youwent to bed earlier than usual.” “Yeah.” It was true. I’d been feeling a bit off, though not inany specific way. I hadn’t been suffering from a headache or asore throat or a nagging cough. I’d just felt bad. “My stomach’sstill bothering me.” “Dr. Passlow will be here soon,” the very young doctor remarked.“He’s the pediatrician. You can discuss those symptomswith him.” Then he patted my wrist. “All finished. Welldone. You’re a real hero.” As he packed up his catgut and his bits of bloodstainedgauze, I tried and tried to recollect what had happened. I’m alight sleeper, so there’s no way I could have been dragged outof bed and carried offlike a baby. If I’d left the house, I wouldhave done it under my own steam. But why? And how? “You must have crawled out the window,” Mum volunteered,as if reading my mind. “All the geraniums underneathit were trampled.” “Oh,” I said. “Sorry.” Though I didn’t even know what geraniumswere, I figured they must have been important. Not tomention fragile. “I don’t remember that.” “Listen, Toby.” Mum leaned forward. She looked like a totalwreck— what with her twitching nerves and puffy, bloodshoteyes— but her voice was still sweet and calm. Even whenshe’s mad at me, she doesn’t sound as if she’s yelling or nagging.I guess it’s because she’s a speech therapist. Maybe she’s spent so many years teaching people to talknicely that she can’t stop doing it herself. “If there’s something you don’t want to tell me,” she said,“you can always talk to a professional. A counselor. I knowhow easy it is to buy drugs these days— ” “Mum!” “— and if you were experimenting— ” “I wasn’t.” “— that would certainly explain what happened.” “I wasn’t, Mum!” “Are you sure?” She stared at me long and hard. “Thinkabout it. Are you absolutely sure?” I couldn’t be sure. That was the trouble. I couldn’t rememberanything, so I couldn’t be sure of anything. Except, ofcourse, that I don’t usually mess around with drugs. The onlycigarette I’ve ever smoked made me really, really sick; I smokedit at school, during recess, and when the bell rang for class,I was too cheap to throw it away because it was only halffinished. So I quickly smoked the rest— in about ten secondsflat. Man, that was a bad idea. I nearly passed out. I thought Iwas going to die. (From nicotine poisoning?) Practically thesame thing happened at Amin’s house when we discovered anancient bottle of port in his garage. We tried to drink the wholelot before his dad came home, and I was puking for hoursafterward. That was when I decided there are better ways to havefun— like grass- surfing, for instance. I might have broken a fewfingers doing it, but at least I had fun. Chugging port, on theother hand, isn’t fun. That stufftastes like cough syrup. Asfor smoking cigarettes . . . well, I’d rather make stink- bombsany day. “I couldn’t have been stoned.” Upon mulling things over, Iwas convinced of this. “I don’t have any drugs. Not even glueor smelly markers.” The thing about drugs is they’re expensive.Fergus has a brother called Liam who smokes a lot of marijuana,and he never lets Fergus sample his stash because itcosts so much. It’s kept under lock and key, so there’s no wayFergus could have got to it. And since I can’t afford an iPhone,I’m certainly not going to be shelling out huge amounts ofdough for a few puffs of hydroponic. “There were no drugs inmy bedroom, swear to God.” “But could you have gone out to get some, Toby?” “No!” By this time, I have to admit, I was starting to panic.It’s no joke when a whole chunk of your life has suddenly gonemissing. “Why would I have done that?” Mum sighed. “Because Fergus asked you to?” she suggested. I suppose I’d better explain that Mum doesn’t like Fergusvery much. She doesn’t mind my friend Amin, but she thinksFergus is a bad influence. It’s probably no surprise that shewanted to blame Fergus for what had happened. To be honest, I couldn’t help wondering about that myself. “If you got involved in some prank, Toby, and you’re scaredto admit it— ” “I don’t know.” That was the frightening thing. I reallydidn’t know. “I can’t remember.” “I won’t get mad, I promise. I’d be relieved.” “Mum, I told you. I can’t remember! ” I didn’t want to start crying,so I decided to get mad instead. “Why don’t you believeme? It’s not my fault I can’t remember!” “Okay. All right.” “Why wouldn’t I tell you? I mean, I’m in enough trouble asit is; how could it possibly get any worse?” I’d hardly finishedspeaking when I was struck by a horrible thought. “I didn’t killany dingoes, did I?” “No,” said Mum. “But the fence was damaged.” “What fence?” “The one at Featherdale.” “Oh.” “Which doesn’t necessarily mean that you were responsible,”Mum quickly added, just as somebody pushed back thecurtains that were drawn around my bed. I looked up to see a pair of uniformed police officers flashingtight- lipped, professional smiles at me. One was a short,blond woman who smelled of soap. The other was a tall, darkman who smelled like fish and chips. “Hello,” said the man. “How are you doing? Mind if we havea quick word?”

Editorial Reviews

Jinks has hold of a clever idea and a solid sense of humor."- Publishers Weekly "The satire isn't all that's biting in this darkly comedic sequel to The Reformed Vampire Support Group (2009)."- Kirkus Reviews Reformed Vampire Support Group 2010 ALA Best Books for Young AdultsNominated as a YALSA Teens Top Ten"Jinks's signature facility with plot and character development is intact as she turns to the topic of vampires-as fans can anticipate, hers are not the romantic superheroes of the Stephenie Meyers books? .Throwing in delicious details and apercus, the author works her way from the murder of one of the vampires to suspense and adventure of the sinister yet daffy variety beloved by readers of Evil Genius . The plot twists, more ornate than in previous works, ramp up the giddiness-and, perhaps, camouflage the corpses, blood and other byproducts of the genre." - Publishers Weekly, starred review" Support Group is truly like no other vampire story. It is witty, cunning, and humorous, with numerous plot twists and turns. Jinks has conjured up an eccentric but believable cast of characters in a story full of action and adventure." - School Library Journal "Jinks's quirky sense of humor will appeal to fans of her Evil Genius series. Those tired of torrid bloodsucker stories or looking for a comic riff on the trend will feel refreshed by the vomitous, guinea-pig-drinking accidental heroics of Nina and her pals." - Kirkus Reviews "The ill-assorted bunch of vampires in this offbeat Australian novel couldn't be further from the iconic image of the dangerous, sexy night creature? .Jinks draws her characters and their unique challenges in great detail; though the adventure takes a while to get into gear, there's plenty of blood and guts (both types) to go around. One part problem novel, one part comedy, and one part murder-mystery, this alternative vampire story is for outsiders of all kinds, underground or otherwise."- The Horn Book "Jinks takes readers on a wild ride, poking wicked fun at vampire enthusiasts of all stripes with her wryly clinical take . . . a first-rate comedy with equal appeal for avid vampire fans and those who wouldn't be caught dead with a copy of Twilight ." - The Bulletin "