I pass him a water bottle and leave him to it. I have a car to steal, and I really need to get some fresh fruit. My insides are starting to feel like a chemical plant. I didn’t think it was possible to get tired of candy, but I am learning new things about myself every day.
I pull up the hood of my jacket and jog into town. Before long, I see signs of suburban life—a gas station, a small retail park with a few big-box stores, three different businesses offering dog grooming. They must really love their dogs here.
Eventually, I slow to a steady walk—a young woman finishing up her morning run—and pause in the doorway of a closed Irish pub. I fish out one of the burner phones and dial Donatella’s number.
I don’t care what Luca thinks; I trust her. I have to trust someone. There’s no answer, so I leave a message. “Hope you’re on your way. I’ll keep this on. Find me, and don’t tell Tomasso anything, especially where Paola is.”
Job done, I stop at a small grocery store that has crates of apples, pears, and potatoes outside—“Fresh from the Farm” according to the handwritten sign.
I scoop up a few pieces of fruit and head inside to pay. On my way out, my amulet flares to life. I sniff the air and try not to react as I pick up an unfamiliar scent.
Not wanting to appear spooked, I take my time strolling down the street, eating my juicy apple, window shopping, and going into a small coffee shop for a latte. All the time, I subtly check reflections in the storefronts.
I see nothing, which is annoying. I’d feel better if I knew what I was dealing with. The only person I consistently spot is a little girl with blond braids, maybe eight or nine, leading an adorable yellow lab puppy on a leash.
They don’t look like any hit squad I’ve ever seen, but the scent and my instincts are telling me there’s a shifter nearby. It won’t be a vamp, not at this time of day.
I can’t risk staking a sweet little girl and her pooch and then finding out I was wrong. I head into another café and order a meatball sub. It smells meaty and delicious, and I gnaw on it as I wander toward an alleyway at the edge of town.
Luca.I call out to him with my mind.Are you there?
Nothing. Fuck’s sake. Men in the morning—they’re all the same.
LUCA!I yell, throwing everything I have at it, all the while trying to appear unconcerned to anyone who might be watching.Wake up, you lazy asshole.
A wave of static hits my ears, and then an amused drawl.Good morning to you as well, darling. Where are you?
It might be morning, but it’s not that good. I’m in town. Think I’ve got a shifter on my tail.
Silence.
I picture him sitting up, scowling, trying to figure out how to come save me on a bright summer day.
I’m okay. All under control.
I take a bite of my sub and let out a groan. My god, this is delicious. And I don’t have to talk with my mouth full while I’m communicating with Luca.
Are you still there? Are you safe, Rosa?
Yeah, sorry. Distracted by meatballs. I’m going to be heading back there with a car, and I need you and Pietro packed up and ready to move, all right?
All right, he answers.Be careful. And we will be discussing this later.
Yeah, yeah. I’ll look forward to the lecture. I casually drop part of my meatball sub as I walk down the alley, then stop and turn around to look. The dog walks straight past it, tail wagging as it ambles toward me with its young owner.
Right. That’s no puppy. Only the best-trained dog would leave a delicious meatball lying on the sidewalk without so much as a sniff. I have a moment of regret, mourning my lost sandwich.
Then I drop everything I’m holding—coffee, fruit, sub—and grab both stakes from my jacket. I sprint toward them so fast the girl looks comically scared, and cannonball right into her. The impact knocks her to the ground, the leash tangles around her legs, and the pup yaps and snaps at me.
I don’t have long, so I slam one stake through her hand, right in the center of the palm, and then I ignore every instinct I have and force myself to drive the other one through the puppy’s paw. Not a puppy, not a little girl, I repeat. But the sounds they make are pretty convincing.
Shit, what if I made a mistake? What if this particular dog doesn’t like meatballs? As I stare at it, though, the snout and floppy ears begin to shrink, and instead of yelping, it barks out a very human “Fuck!”
The little girl is crying like a little girl, but her braids have disappeared, leaving behind a military-style buzzcut.
They can’t change fully back into their human forms while they’re injured, so different parts keep morphing—a hand instead of a paw, an ass instead of a tail, giant size-twelve feet on the child. Yeah. Shifters for sure.
I’d like to question them, but I don’t have time. There’s no one around, but this is a small town, and the noise will attract attention. Leaving my stakes in them, I run all the way to the small parking lot at the edge of Main Street, then slow to a casual stroll.
