A knock thuds against the door. “It’s time,” RJ calls through the wood. “We’ve got to go.”
“Where are we going?”
“I have a few questions about the shaman’s procedure. We need library books. Figured it’s better if we all head out together. Then we’ll have our answers. A few more tweaks to make sure we’ve got things exactly right.” RJ pulls open the door and pops her head around. “And then hopefully a cure by sunrise.”
Will sunrise be too late?
I’m coming up short on answers.
The whispers prick against my eardrums again, senses on high alert on our way downstairs. Lacey and Colt fall into line behind us like soldiers in an endless war, and Grayson stumbles wearily at the end of our progression of ragtag warriors.
This. This is who we’ve got to work on a cure, something no one else in any of our combined worlds has managed.
No vampire, or werewolf, or witch has been able to stop lunging for each other’s throats long enough to work together. Only the shaman with whatever awful gains he sought from the people he helped.
And now his memory-hungry, pink-obsessed daughter.
Plus the six of us, working together through no small number of miracles.
An entire chain reaction of them strung together as fragile as flowers
If RJ hadn’t come into her powers, if Lacey hadn’t managed to fight off multiple attacks by moon-mad wolves and survive a transformation, we wouldn’t be there.
But me…
What the hell do I bring to the table?
I can’t even shift.
Like Jrue said, I’m a liability. There’s no guarantee my portion of the cure will be enough to work. I’m not a wolf, not in the ways that matter.
Chatter twines our voices into a single rush of noise in the entry foyer.
Through it all, the whispers continue, words without form or substance, yet somehow those are the ones I pay attention to.
I shake them off, ignoring another rush of chill from the fever spinning my brain. It’s crazy how fast the change comes on. Like what happened to Grayson before the potion.
There doesn’t have to be a reason with the moon madness.
RJ and Aimee carry canvas totes out to the van, stacking the supplies they’ve already worked on in the back and securing them. Grayson brushes past me on the front porch stoop and I stop, grabbing his elbow and pulling him toward me.
His eyes, glazed over now, drop to where my fingers touch but it’s not the connection that worries me. Or him.
It’s the skin slowly sloughing off him, the coarse black hair like his wolf is desperate to push through.
He covers my hand with his, his palm boiling against my chill.
“It’s going to be okay, Mandi,” he assures me.
His voice is tired, worn out from fighting this for so long. The madness is coming on stronger since his change in the car. Our reprieve from the potion has run out and I’m a short slide behind him.
“I’m scared too. I don’t know what’s going to happen.” I sigh, weighed down.
“You’re going to get in this vehicle—” Grayson helps me toward the van. “You’re going to sit while we get our library research on, and then you’re going to take your medicine. This will all be over.”
My tongue knots itself, my mind too occupied by everything that’s happened to correct him.
Neither one of us recognizes the way the air parts.