“Smell it. Can’t you smell it?”
She sniffed carefully, her brows drawn together in a frown. The dad did the same, inhaling cautiously over the pitcher.
“I don’t smell anything,” he said.
Hank crossed over and took the pitcher out of the father’s hand. Yup, the taint was there, strong and nauseating. He set it aside with a heavy thump. Meanwhile, the mom was frowning over her glass.
“This is Hank,” Cecilia said, her voice soothing in the awkward silence. “He’s here to help. He thinks the Detroit Flu is carried in the water.”
“Do you smell it?” he pressed the mother.
She set down her glass slowly. “Maybe.” She looked at him, and her eyes narrowed. Then her gaze hopped to her daughter, to the clawed hands and the furred arms.
“You know,” Hank said quietly. “Or you guess, at least.” His gaze moved to the father. “Is he blind?” The term wasn’t universal among shifters, but it was common enough in Detroit.
“What?” Mr. Randolph said. “What is he talking about?”
It took two tries for his wife to answer, but she managed it. “Yes. He’s…blind.”
“And you? Who taught you?”
“My mother. I…um…I never…”
She’d never shifted.
Mr. Randolph stepped forward. “I’m not blind. What—” He stopped when his wife grabbed his hand.
“It’s slang, honey,” she said, her voice still cracking with strain.
Meanwhile, Hank kept pressing. “What about your siblings? Brother, sister—”
“My brother did it once. We aren’t…we don’t…” She shook her head. “It’s never been a big thing for us.”
He looked at Brittany. “It is now.”
She swallowed, fear tightening her features as she took a half step backward toward the corner. Her gaze roved the room, and she clutched her free hand to her chest, her fingers curled into claws. Her husband turned to her, and she tucked tighter into his arms as she made tiny, almost inaudible whimpering sounds. Hank sighed. She was definitely half-shifter and her daughter, therefore, had enough DNA to activate, at least partially. Which made her a hybrid, although they already knew that.
But he needed more information if he was going to help. “What clan are you?”
It took Abby a moment to answer. She was busy breathing her husband’s scent and squaring her mind for what was ahead, but eventually she straightened and looked back at Hank. “Black bear. From the Grand Rapids area.”
One of his own. There were few of them in the Detroit area, and technically she should have reported herself to the local bear clan when she moved here, but she’d never shifted. Most people like her just forgot. It wasn’t part of their lives, and they rarely told their spouses.
“Don’t drink the water,” he said clearly. “We think it activates your DNA.”
Which is when the father’s eyes lit up. “So you know what this is. You know how to cure it?”
Cecilia hedged. “We have an idea. I thought Hank here could talk to Brittany as she comes out—”
“No,” Hank interrupted. “It has to be her mother.” Then he looked at the woman. “Do you know how to do this? Did you see with your brother? You keep her eyes closed and get her to remember.”
“There were triggers words with Owen. We all practiced them in case…” Her gaze went to Brittany. “But she doesn’t know anything about this. I never—” Her voice was rising in hysterics. She wasn’t melting down, but she was terrified, and he couldn’t blame her. To have thought that this part of your life was done and then have it endanger your child? Even he could see that it cut at her.
“That’s okay,” he said quickly. Brittany was stirring. Her breath was deepening, and her hand twitched. “Think of a time when she felt powerful, pretty, or smart. Did she win something that made her feel really good about herself?”
“We just went shopping for prom dresses,” she said, her voice uncertain.
“No, no,” the father interrupted. “She’s a mathlete. Remember how happy she was when they’d just won regionals? She’s the only girl on the team.”
