“Catherine will know you’re a werewolf, by the way, regardless of which form you take. Jakob too. And Istvan, the steward.” He looks a bit sheepish. “I told them my plan to speak with the local pack and ask for help. They want to save the missing girls as much as I do.”
Farkas would be furious. He guards our identities like he guards his power—with brute force and gnashing teeth. I understand the importance of secrecy more than most, but Bowie doesn’t seem concerned beyond possibly offending me. His nonchalance on the matter is much different from what I’m used to.
“I’m sorry if that bothers you,” says Bowie. “When I thought to seek assistance, it didn’t occur to me I should keep it a secret. I consult Catherine on everything, but don’t worry. She’s discreet.”
It will be interesting to meet humans who know what I am. I wonder if Bowie’s sister lives in the giant stone mansion on the hill overlooking the town. They’re noble after all. It could be their house. I’ve only ever seen it from a distance, its looming enormity a mystery reserved for the richest of men and not the likes of me or the peasants I interact with. We’re headed that way.
Sniffing the air, I smell smoke from fireplaces and the earthy tang of farm animals along with the waste such creatures leave behind. If I’m going to shift, I’d better do it now before I completely lose cover. I look to Bowie and whine. When I’ve caught his attention, I stare at the satchel.
Bowie catches on immediately. “Shifting, then, are you?” He swings the satchel off his shoulder, folds the strap inside, and kneels to offer it to me.
I take it between my teeth and scamper off into the woods. When I’m dressed again, I toss the bag over my shoulder and join him.
“You’re certain this is okay?” I ask. I’ve got on my disguise, which is really only a hat. Anyone who looks too closely will realize there’s something off about my backside where my tail is tucked, but most people are too polite to mention it. Except children; they’ll say anything.
“Of course.” His hand flutters in front of him. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Well, look at you.” I flutter my hand to match his. “Then look at me.” My shoulders hunch. “You’re dressed so nice, and even in my best clothes, I still resemble the poorest of farmers.”
“Frocks and stockings don’t make a man, Andras. Character does, and yours is fine as any.” He offers his arm with a crook of his elbow and a pointed glance.
I take it, still feeling self-conscious. We walk at a brisk pace. I suppose he doesn’t want to keep his sister waiting. I understand, so I match his stride. Sure enough, we march directly through the farmland, then uphill to the most massive house I’ve ever laid eyes on. Never did I think I’d be welcome inside. My stomach flips, and the jitters set in. Next to me, Bowie is relaxed, and that helps.
The mansion appears even larger up close, with its giant white limestone bricks. Two attached towers stand on either side, wide and rounded, their charcoal-gray roofs like little hats, almost as if this were not a grand estate but an actual castle.
We pass through meticulously manicured grounds, gardens line a bricked courtyard, all of which smacks of wealth and resources unfathomable to me. As we climb the stairs to the tall set of wooden doors, one swings open, and a friendly servant appears.
The man smiles and bows. “Master Bowie.”
I drop Bowie’s arm as he nods to the man. “Istvan, good evening.”
“Shall I take your coats?” Istvan looks from Bowie to me, realizes I’m not wearing one, and corrects himself. “Coat, sir?”
“No, I’ve got it, thank you.” Bowie gestures to me. “This is Andras, my guest. Please let the staff know to make him comfortable.”
“Yes, sir.” Istvan then bows to me, which I find utterly bizarre. “Master Andras. Should you need anything during your stay, I’m at your service.”
I mutter an uncomfortable thank you and follow Bowie inside. Istvan closes the door behind us with a gentle click.
Bowie’s confident stride takes us down a hall lit one either side with oil lamps and through another set of double doors into a sitting room. The pleasant scent of beeswax candles fills my nose. Inside, a tall woman of middling age rises to greet us. Her dress is shining emerald-green satin, bright even in the dim light.
“Bowie.” Her voice is strong and warm. She smiles and reaches for him with both hands.
He takes them into his own. They resemble one another, with the same dark hair, high cheekbones, and lean frames, though she’s much older than him. Older than I’d imagined a sister of his could be. Perhaps forty, whereas Bowie looks my age, twenty.
“Catherine, dear. So good of you to stay up for us.” He kisses her cheek, then turns for me. Since he’s stretched out a hand toward me, I come close enough to take it. He tugs me in farther. “This is Andras. He’s the pack’s best tracker and has generously agreed to help us.”
Catherine graces me with a smile. If she’s worried about me being a werewolf, it doesn’t show. This close, I see her jewel-like green eyes match her dress the same way Bowie’s match his coat. In an instant, her hands are in mine, and she’s leaning forward. On instinct, I kiss her cheek, as Bowie had done, though surely not as gracefully, and hold my breath until she lets me go.
With a wave of her hand that reminds me of her brother, she gestures to a chair. “You’ve come a long way. Take a seat. Would you care for a drink?”
Istvan remains at the entrance, waiting, I assume, to serve us. I decline with a shake of my head and try to disappear into the cushioned chair. Though everyone has been kind, I feel as if I don’t belong.
Bowie takes over. Bless him. “Have you any news?”
A cloud passes over Catherine’s pretty features. “Nothing good, I’m afraid. Rumors of another girl gone, though this one before the others. If it’s true, she’s been missing since early summer.”
Seeing as it’s late summer, that tells me she’s been gone nearly three months. She must be very homesick…if she’s still alive. The sobering thought brings with it a frown. I focus on the golden embroidered brocade of my chair, rubbing my fingers along the raised edges. It makes listening easier.
