“It’s okay, big boy.” Griffith heaves himself to his feet and spares Shrimp a pat on the head when he passes by.
He disappears around the corner, coming back a moment later with a vaguely familiar face. The man is tall, lanky, with a complexion as dark as a moonless night, and a wide, wicked grin. When he shoots it my way, I recognize him from behind the bar at Local Brew.
“Can you double-check?” Griffith asks his coworker. “Want to make sure I’m not mixed up.”
“Sure.” The werewolf—I’m assuming—offers me a smile. “Hey. I’m Rodney. Okay if I give you a quick sniff?”
“Clementine. And go for it.”
I extend my hand. Instead of smelling my palm, he cradles my arm and presses his nose to the inside of my elbow. The inhale tickles, and goose bumps erupt over my skin. Out of the corner of my eye, I could swear that Griffith stiffens.
Is he worried I’m going to snap at his pack mate?
I know the guy is here to help, not like Juan, who decided I was bad news because I’d once convinced his daughter to skip final period to go swimming in Lake Galen.
Naked.
“And the shoe?” Rodney holds out his hand, and Griffith swipes my Converse off the table and hands the footwear over. The wolf doesn’t even need a full breath. “Yeah, definitely different. I can pass this around. Make sure everyone knows who to track if their scent pops up.”
“Thank you.” I smile up at Rodney, and he returns the expression with his own charming grin.
“You should get on that.” Griffith claps a hand down on his shoulder and turns his pack mate toward the front door. “Now.”
“Right. Yeah. Bye, Clementine!” Rodney’s voice echoes back to me from around the corner as Griffith all but shoves him out of his house.
Guy is eager to get security in place. Not that I can blame him.
I slip my hand under my shirt and gingerly test the magicked bandage. Already, it feels more tenuous than last night. In a day or so, I’ll need to get it redone. On top of the overall suck about my unhealing wound is the fact that witch magic doesn’t come cheap. My savings are likely to be nonexistent after this.
Griffith returns and settles back onto the couch. He props his feet up, which reminds me of what I just lost.
“Damn.”
“What?”
“That’s the only pair of shoes I packed.”
12
CLEMENTINE
Carlis very happy about the shoe. He even wants a turn with it—which is ridiculous because we merpeople may have slightly better sniffing power than humans, but we’re nowhere near werewolf level. I doubt, if my brother were blindfolded, he’d be able to pick Luke out of a lineup on scent alone.
Also, I really need to stop thinking about how probably every wolf in this town is going to be getting a whiff of my footwear. And people think wikiFeet is invasive.
“We should figure out a plan, right?”
Carl has been hovering since the moment he woke from his nap and returned to Griffith’s house, where we’ve been watching old episodes ofSurvivor. My brother has never been the sit-still-and-chill type, so five minutes into the show, his knee is jumping, and he’s suggesting we pause the episode and strategize.
Griffith and I share a look, which I realize is the first time we’ve ever done that. Commiserated. He blinks in surprise, probably coming to the same unsettling realization.
“I agreed to hang out at Local Brew,” I offer up to calm my brother, even though I haven’t officially signed on to Griffith’s idea. But with Carl here, looking on edge, I figure taking some of the worry off his shoulders is worth being in the vicinity of his aggravating best friend. “Plenty of wolves there in case trouble shows up.”
Carl’s brow wrinkles as he glances between us. “You want to hang out at Griffith’s bar?”
“You shocked people like my place?” the wolf grumbles.
“No.” Carl continues to study us. “But you two don’t … get along.”
