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“Here.”
Something soft slipped between my fingers as I drew away from Luke in the darkness. The offering wasn’t a handkerchief—just a wad of fresh toilet paper. Still, the gesture went further toward drying my tears than the absorbent material could by itself.
“Thanks.” My voice quavered, so I covered the tremble by fumbling around in search of the faucet. Cold water splashing on my skin made me feel human enough to hunt for the light switch. Before I found it, the fluorescents above our heads flickered to life.
I rubbed both hands across my face, swiping away stray liquid. Took a deep breath. Returned to task.
“I need to make sure the Smythewhites know about Clarence. Slim is a knowledge bomb just waiting to detonate. And Bastion...”
Luke was no longer perfectly groomed, but he was still perfect. “Will I be an alpha asshole,” he asked, “if I offer to fix whichever problem you least want to deal with?”
Despite everything, I laughed. Well, barked out a tiny jolt of humor. “You’re not an alpha asshole.” Alpha protector maybe. I could still feel the ghost of his arms pressing warmth into my skin.
Like an alpha protector, he didn’t take my words as an invitation. Instead, he awaited further instructions. And, after a moment of consideration, I gave him the task I most wanted but where I was wanted least.
“Bastion. But....”
As soon as the name came out of my mouth, I wanted to take it back. Was I really sending one of the skinless to watch over a cousin so sick he couldn’t shift and flee to protect his newly regained pelt? My exhausted brain tried to pull together a metaphor combining a wolf in sheep’s clothing and Little Red Riding Hood, the resulting silence stretching out so long that Luke’s jaw clenched.
“I will do whatever you are most comfortable with,” he told me carefully.
And the half-formed metaphor shattered into shards of melting sugar water. Whatever horror stories I’d heard about skinless, this was Luke. I trusted him with my cousin. I trusted him with much more than my cousin.
Without glancing down, my fingers slid into his fingers. Squeezed. His return gesture was an electric paddle restarting my heart.
“I don’t know what else can be done,” I murmured.
Luke had an answer for that also. “We can make sure he’s comfortable. Hook up an IV. Force fluids. Provide stimulating music. Or calming darkness. Alternate the two, maybe.”
Clearly we hadn’t done everything Luke could think of. Together, we’d get through this. Trusting Luke with my family left my brain clear to deal with the humans on my list.
“Thank you,” I told him, fully meaning it this time.
To my surprise, Luke shook his head in rejection. The corners of his eyes crinkled just a little.
“You don’t have to thank members of your pack.”
***
SLIM WAS NO LONGER alone in the waiting room when I returned to it. Instead, the Smythewhites hovered around a beleaguered doctor, peppering the young woman with questions they didn’t like the answers to.
“But he was fine yesterday.” Mr. Smythewhite slammed one fist into the other, the force of his anger driving the slender doctor back a step.
She was young, perhaps still in her residency. Inexperience might be why she gave the couple more information than they were emotionally equipped to handle.
“That’s sometimes how it happens.” She clasped her hands together earnestly. “A blessing, really. No slow decline. Just healthy one day then a coma the next. It’s better than the alternative.”
If we’d been in a cartoon, Mr. Smythewhite’s glare would have made the doctor’s coat catch fire. Instead, she merely flinched as he threatened: “I’ll sue this hospital...”
Mrs. Smythewhite placed a hand on her husband’s arm to silence him. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she asked, “Are you saying our son’s never going to wake up again?”
“At this point, even hospice care isn’t indicated. We’ll keep him here until....” The doctor trailed off as Mr. Smythewhite huffed out something incoherent, turned on his heel, and left the room.
The door slammed shut behind him and Mrs. Smythewhite didn’t try to smooth over her husband’s behavior. Just asked: “May I see Clarence?”
“Of course. Right this way.”
Then they were gone, leaving me alone with Slim. So I guessed I’d deal with that problem sooner rather than later. I sank down onto the next chair over, cracked plastic scraping my skin through the thin rain pants Slim had given me out of his car’s trunk. Perhaps if I....
The previous owner of my pants broached the issue before I could come up with a game plan. “You’re getting ready to tell me that werewolves are a secret. I can’t tell anyone. You’ll start with a threat then move on to a bribe.”
“Um, well, yeah.” Way to steal my thunder.
“I’ve been thinking about Bastion’s stories.”
Now the ground was firming up beneath me. Of course that was what it would take to silence the bounty hunter.
I nodded and promised: “We’ll still make that happen.” If Bastion couldn’t—
I swallowed, stopping that thought trail cold. If necessary, then I’d write a story starring Slim in larger-than-life glory. The result wouldn’t be as gripping as what my cousin could manage, but....
Only, Slim was shaking his head. “Naw. Doesn’t matter.”
Shit. I clenched my fists. This wasn’t the time or the place for an ultimatum.
Only it wasn’t an ultimatum that Slim laid out on the magazine-lined table between us. “That’s what I realized,” he explained into the loaded silence. “I didn’t want a story written about me. I wanted to be part of a story.”
He paused, and there was something gentle in his face that I hadn’t seen previously when he continued. “You let me join in and I’m grateful. I’m the one profoundly in your debt.”
***
EVENTUALLY, SLIM TOOK his debt home, leaving me to keep vigil in the dim waiting room. Which is when my thoughts turned to Bastion. I trusted Luke to do everything possible, but what if...?
Refusing to let my mind flow further in that direction, I asked a nurse for directions and headed for Clarence’s room. The door was open, the scene inside so melancholy it was hard to remember that the dying boy was a serial killer.
Tubes and machines, slow beeps and deep breathing. Mrs. Smythewhite had pulled her chair up as close as she could get without actually crawling onto the bed with the patient. Her torso had bent down over her son’s as night deepened, and I could almost imagine their foreheads drifting closer and closer over minutes and hours.
Now, the skin of their temples just barely touched.
Interrupting the tableau would have been sacrilege. I turned...and the bare feet I’d been hiding from hospital staff all evening smacked down just loudly enough to catch Mrs. Smythewhite’s attention.
“Honor.” Her voice was scratchy. “Come in. Sit by me.”
My hand fell to my hip, searching for a dagger that I’d dropped in the forest. My other hand reached for ghost fingers that were minding my cousin instead.
With nothing to support me except my own self-name, I padded forward and slid into the empty chair, eighteen inches from Mrs. Smythewhite.
Like Slim, she spoke before I could. Also like Slim, her topic came as a surprise.
“Promise had a fur just like that one. May I touch it?”
Despite the intimacy of her request, I nodded. Braced myself for the trickle of sensation across my nose and chest.
“Where did it come from?” she asked after a moment.
“It’s a family tradition,” I explained vaguely. Then, realizing what she’d told me seconds earlier: “You saw my aunt’s fur?”
Mrs. Smythewhite nodded, her palm stroking my spine now. “She kept it underneath her mattress when we were roommates. She said it gave her strength.”
I jolted this time, but not because of my companion’s contact with my fur. Under her mattress. Just like the location where the scent trail had led in Clarence’s suite.
Which meant....
“You put one under your son’s bed.” It wasn’t a guess but rather a certainty.
Once again, Mrs. Smythewhite dipped her chin in confirmation. “I hoped....” She inhaled, dismissing a fancy that hadn’t come to fruition. “When we’re desperate, we grasp at every straw.”
That was why we’d been unable to find Bastion’s pelt. First it had been in the one room I failed to look in. Then it had been wrapped around Clarence’s body beneath his blanket while he lied to the police.
But that was water over the dam. Bastion’s pelt had been found. Grace’s and Justice’s hadn’t.
I tried to keep my voice level, but excitement flooded in anyway. “Where did you get it?”
“An estate sale.”
I could hardly breathe. This was the solution. If I found Grace’s pelt she’d come back to me. She’d have to....
I grabbed one hand with the other, forcing myself to ask the important question rather than reaching over to shake information out of the serial killer’s mother. “There were others? Other wolf furs there?”
And the pity in Mrs. Smythewhite’s eyes suggested she understood more than she should have. “No. There was only the one.”