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"Yes, Dad."

His eyes narrow. "Don't call me that."

I grin. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"Yes."

Interesting. I file it away for later abuse.

Then the front window of Bell & Bone flashes white.

We both turn. Sid arches, every hair on his spine standing up.

Through the glass, past the vintage dresses and the string of orange lights, the antique mirror sits on its stand where I left it. Fog crawls across the surface from the edges in, and even from the porch I can see the letters forming.

Gage's hand closes around my arm. "Stay here."

I pull free. "Not a chance."

We cross the lawn together and stop at the window.

The mirror isn't saying thirteen days anymore.

It says TWELVE.

And under it, in smaller letters that finish one stroke at a time, like a fingertip dragging through frost on the wrong side of the glass:

THE WOLF LIES.

4

GAGE

STILL TWELVE DAYS UNTIL HALLOWEEN

The mirror knows what I am.

That's the challenge.

The bigger challenge is that it's telling Maren I lie.

THE WOLF LIES.

Two words, dragged through the fog on the wrong side of the glass. They hold their shape while the candlelight shivers over them. Maren stands close enough that I feel the heat come off her. Close enough to catch clove smoke and old lace and the thin copper thread of the cut on her palm.

Mate.

Not now.

She looks up at me. Every freckle's gone pale around the edges.

"Wolf?"

I keep my face flat.

Idiot, my wolf says.

Not helpful.