“Wolfy?”
“Yeah. You know. Like furry, I guess.”
I glance at Omar as he shrugs.
We park in one of the spaces, dark lines running through the asphalt like veins, and step out. The hot, dry air is overwhelming for a minute. I wipe my forehead and take a breath.
“Sense anything?” Omar asks, more at home in this type of weather.
I relax my shoulders and send out my blood-wolf feelers, looking for any sign of wolf inhabitants. And surprisingly, I find one.
Scanning the buildings, I zone in on the consciousnesses of two wolves.
“There are people here. Two men. On the roof.”
Omar and I cast our gazes to the roof of the strip mall. The one-story building is tall enough, with a facade that rises above the height of the ceiling.
“Why are they hiding?” Omar asks.
“I don’t know. They don’t seem scared. Maybe they’re the welcome committee.”
“Pretty warm welcome.”
We give each other a look that saysWatch your back.Then we wander back the way we came.
“It’s weird,” Omar says, “everyone I asked said there were a whole bunch of wolves living here. Fighters also. Why are there only two of them?”
Curiosity offsets my fear, and I decide to make a bold move.
“Hey!” I yell, turning to face the strip mall, holding up my hands to wave. “Guys? We know you’re up there. We just want to talk.”
“Subtle,” Omar says, smirking.
For a second nothing happens, and then one guy stands up. He’s bald, Black, wearing khaki like he’s in the army or something. In his hands is a rifle.
“Damn it,” I hear another man say, before he stands up as well. This one is white, with a blond flattop hairstyle, dressedall in-black combat gear. He has one of those modern sporting crossbows resting against his shoulder, pointed skyward. “You can’t just give us away like that, Terrance.”
“It’s fine,” Terrance—I guess—says. “They already knew we were here.” He surveys us with a narrow, penetrating gaze. “State your business.”
“We need help,” I say, though I feel Omar tense at my side. Should I not give so much away so quickly? “Can we talk? Like, at the same height?”
The white guy, the one who isn’t Terrance, shakes his head but Terrance, who seems like the guy in charge, thinks for a moment, then nods.
We wait on the street for them to come down, me rolling a jagged pebble under the toe of my shoe.
While we wait Omar steps a little closer. “I think we should watch ourselves.”
“How come?” I say, buoyed by my experiences with the rogues over the last week and a half.
“Did you see their weapons? These guys are militarized.”
“Could just be for protection?”
“Yeah, or something else.”
A creak and the sound of crunching glass distract us. Terrance and his comrade exit through the door of what I think was once a drugstore.
“Hi,” I say, trying to sound nonthreatening, then swiftly wondering if that’s the best tactic. Should I try and sound more menacing? I’d probably settle for assertive right now.
