I pad forward, intending to retrieve my satchel. His free arm comes up to pat my neck.
“You were really something,” he murmurs in a low voice, “with Esther. You made her happy. Thank you.”
Luckily, I can’t blush in this form. I give in to temptation and lick a broad stripe from chin to ear. When this earns me a grin, I do it again. Then I nose at the satchel, grasp it with my teeth, and give a tug.
“Oh, right.” He sits up, takes the bag from around his shoulder, and hands it over. “There you go.”
I wander off into the forest. I’m not sure why privacy beckons; it just does. When I’m far enough into the trees to feel like I’m alone, I roll my neck and coax my body to change. With a rush of sensation that feels a lot like the moment you jump into cool water, my flesh obeys the command. Bones morph and reform, fur becomes skin, and my snout flattens to the familiar shape of my human face. Of course, the ears, tail, and ridge of fur that connects them remain as always, ensuring I can never blend in with other werewolves or humans, but I’ve accepted this.
And now I have Bowie. I find myself hoping that once we’ve solved the mystery of the missing girls, perhaps we can remain friends. I would like that.
I dig through the satchel and pull out the black shirt Bowie loaned me as well as my pants and leather shoes. My hand lingers on the soft, worn cloth of my rag doll, Marta, and I relax. Silly that a child’s toy still brings such comfort, but I’m glad I brought her. She deserves an adventure as much as I do.
After dressing, I swing the satchel into place and take a few deep breaths of sweet-smelling forest air. Pine trees mix with deciduous, and their needles coat the ground as their scent permeates everything around us. This would be a good spot for a nap, but I’ve got scent trails to follow. Being limited to the hours the sun doesn’t shine will hinder our progress, so we need a good start before we rest.
Making my way back to Bowie, I see he hasn’t budged from his spot among the greenery. His eyes are closed, though surely he hears my approach.
“I’m dressed,” I say, feeling shy.
“Pity.” His lips curl to a grin while his eyes remain closed. He pats the grass next to him.
I sit cross-legged and take the opportunity to stare at his face. Dark lashes fan in perfect crescents over his cheeks, and his upper lip juts out ever so slightly over his fangs. That reminds me…
“Bowie, you haven’t eaten.” Or at least I haven’t seen him eat. “Have you?”
He shakes his head. His eyes flutter open, revealing stormy skies. “Not in a while, no.”
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“I am.”
My brain has trouble putting those facts together in a way that makes sense. “Then why don’t you eat?”
“It’s complicated.” He must see my confusion because he continues, “It’s not always easy for me to feed. I don’t condone killing, and there aren’t many humans I can trust with the truth. So to feed from them, I must lie, coerce, and nudge their very memories aside to quench my thirst. It doesn’t seem fair.”
“Nudge their memories?” I’m glad I eat only prey animals, not humans. I can’t imagine the guilt. “You can do that?”
“Not well and not always. Some minds are too strong for my manipulations. So I must be careful.”
“How long can you go without eating?”
“Well, it’s drinking, really, and sixteen nights is the most I’ve ever made it.”
Sixteen nights without a meal sounds like living torture. “How long have you gone now?”
“Not long.”
“How long, Bowie?”
“Four nights.” His hand settles on my knee. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll manage.”
Now that I think on it, four nights without a meal also sounds like living torture, but I take him at his word. “Did you learn anything useful?”
Bowie’s lips part on a sigh. “Not particularly. Three girls gone, all near to the same age, twelve to fourteen, none who knew each other, all missing for nearly three weeks. Whoever took them has a good head start on us.”
He sounds defeated already. My thoughts drift to the worst of the unspoken possibilities, and I can’t decide whether or not to voice it. Instead, I study Bowie’s hand on my knee. Slim. Pale skin. Long, graceful fingers and perfectly buffed nails. I decide to speak up. “You know, it may already be too late.”
His gaze intensifies and becomes desperate. “I have to believe they’re alive. I have to.”
