"Come on, come on. Pick up the goddamn phone."

  I paced in tight circles on the pavement, panting and panicking. It was too hot, my fur too thick, and my sock too... damp. I was on the verge of jumping out of my own skin. I wanted to be anywhere but here, and be done with this godforsaken day—and that was before accounting for the impending moonrise.

  My phone was pressed against my ear. Three rings. Four. Then straight to voicemail.

  JT’s voice crackled through the speaker, warm but perfunctory:

  I hung up before he finished. I’d already left a message the first time—concise, to the point. The second had been less concise. Borderline frantic.

  Now, I just muttered a curse—damning JT and the dog that had birthed him—and bounced on the balls of my feet, too wired to stand still.

  Maggie watched me, her demeanor stoic, but I could sense her anxiety pressing up against my mind, only to be smothered by my own bundle of nerves. Which probably wasn’t helping either of us. She was worried—about me, about Boden, and now, about Coy as well.

  Boden was still missing. And now, so was Coy.

  Well, not , exactly. I just didn’t know where he was anymore.

  I’d basically... let him go.

  It had been obvious since we’d stopped searching for Boden that Coy was eager to continue—with or without me. And I didn’t have the time or luxury to stop him. Or the capability, considering he could literally teleport. Maybe I could’ve pulled rank and used on of Sandy's command words, but the would only trip the scales towards resentment and insubordination.

  Besides, I had familiars, didn’t I? Might as well use them.

  Make lemonade from lemons.

  If he wanted to keep looking, then that would be his assignment. And, if I wanted his cooperation in the future, I wouldn't do to give him a reason to defy me now. That, and giving him what he wanted gave me room for... negotiations.

  I told him he could go—but only under two conditions:

  One, he had to be back before morning.

  Two, he had to take Nevermore with him.

  Technically, there was a third——but that was implied.

  Nevermore, understandably, had not been thrilled. I’d doomed him to babysit.

  The raven shifted his weight from foot to foot, feathers puffed in barely contained irritation. "And how exactly am I supposed to follow a teleporting dog?"

  I pointed at Coy’s vest. "Just sit on him. If the vest goes where he goes, then you will too."

  Flawless reasoning.

  Nevermore regarded me with one skeptical eye. "You realize I have to keep my eyes closed, right?"

  I shrugged. "Then just remember to blink."

  Coy pranced in a circle, tail wagging, his excitement radiating through our bond like static electricity. While I hadn’t so much given him permission as acknowledged the inevitable, he was nonetheless thrilled—I’d basically written him a blank check to go out on the town.

  But that’s where Nevermore came in. He hopefully reign in Coy's behavior a bit.

  Keyword:

  Coy, pleased beyond reason, waited for Nevermore to board, gave an eager shake—then, in the literal blink of an eye, bamfed out of existence, taking a deeply disgruntled Nevermore with him.

  And just like that, Maggie and I were alone.

  Afterwards, I'd made my way to the Park Circle bus stop and attempted to call JT. And failed.

  JT was a vet. I knew that much. But kind? There were small-animal vets, large-animal vets, exotic specialists. Was he elbow-deep in a cow somewhere? Performing emergency surgery on a parrot? Whatever it was, it was apparently too important for him to check his damn phone.

  I checked my phone again, scrolling through my contacts, looking for an alternative.

  I call my parents. That was technically an option.

  A last-resort, nuclear-option kind of option.

  Dad would be thrilled to hear from me—right up until he realized I was stranded without a car and staying at the house of a man I hardly knew. Then the excitement would congeal into anxiety, the kind that stuck in you like bad heartburn. He didn’t handle stress well; he let it eat him alive. He’d insist I come home—and, if he was driving, I wouldn't have a choice. Which meant finding myself in the same house as my stepmom.

  Katherine.

  She’d pry every last detail out of me like she was scraping plaque off teeth. She could be so.. surgical about it. Since my pre-teens, she’d basically conditioned my siblings and me to be incapable of hiding things from her—like some kind of Pavlovian Jedi mind-trick.

  Not that I could hide the fact I was a werewolf. Not even a good poker face could help me conceal that.

  So, if I called my parents, I’d be back in my old room in an instant. In a house where I was neither wanted nor wanted to be. With a bedroom door that was—if I remembered correctly—made of particle board.

  Not exactly secure: I could huff and puff and blow the damn thing down.

  So. No. Not an option.

  I shoved my phone back into my pocket and ground my heel against the pavement, feeling the unpleasant adhesion of my damp sock. My stomach turned, and my skin...

  It wasn’t just the moon. It was the The heat was getting to me. With my fur and my turtleneck sweater, I was not well-suited for July. And though the temperature was gradually dropping as the sun lowered in the sky, it didn’t make things any more pleasant.

  This was the South Carolina coast we were talking about. And in the summer, when evening came around, and the temperature was tolerable, all the biting insects came out to feast.

  Even now, I could hear the incessant, tinnitus-like hum of mosquitoes swarming around my head.

  I needed to get homeIf only from my own sanity.

  I let out a breath, rubbed my temples, and opened my contact list again.

  Candice might be a possibility—she would have closed up shop at 6 p.m., but she lived all the way up in Moncks Corner. It could easily take her 45 minutes to an hour to reach me. And that was assuming she wasn’t teaching her women’s self-defense class.

  The list went on.

  Dina K., former coworker—barely knew her.

  Kayla, current coworker—didn’t have a car.

  Michael, my brother—lived all the way in Ridgeland.

  Justin, my ex—was... hell, I didn’t know where he was, nor could I remember the last time we’d spoken.

  He might as well be dead for all I knew. Or cared.

  I kept scrolling past the assorted contacts in my phone—college classmates, people from high school, coworkers, networking acquaintances, and some names I straight-up couldn’t recall adding in the first place. Probably the result of syncing my contacts with my social media: my so-called

  And then, toward the end of the alphabetically organized list, there was Vanessa.

  V.

  As sure as the moon would rise, and the sun would set, the light of my failures had led me, once again, back to her.

  I hesitated, thumb hovering over her name.

  The last time I’d called her—and every time before that—she’d shown up and helped me out of a bad spot. But I it would cost me. V had a way of collecting favors—interest-bearing obligations—and I was already in debt.

  And now, in need of one hell of a favor.

  It was a vicious cycle but damn if she didn’t deliver.

  So, despite my best judgment, I tapped her name.

  V picked up on the third ring.

  “AJ,” she greeted me cheerily—that unimpressed, mocking kind of cheer. “What a surprise.”

  I ignored the bait. “I need your help.”

  A pause. Then a slow exhale—the kind meant to convey put-upon patience. “You don’t say.”

  “I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important.”

  “It always is,” she replied. She didn’t sarcastic, but hers was the kind you could “So, what’s the catastrophe this time? Still wrangling those little critters?”

  “I’m managing that just fine, thanks,” I said, a little too fast. “This isn’t about them. My car just got repo’d, and I need a ride back to Sandy’s. Immediately.”

  “Haven’t they been after your car for, what, a month now? I’m honestly impressed you managed to outmaneuver them for as long as you have.”

  I resisted the urge to groan. “V.”

  “I mean, it’s not like you have —let’s call him, oh, I don’t know, JT—who, I’m sure, would be absolutely delighted to play chauffeur for you.”

  “I already tried him. Multiple times. He’s not answering.”

  “Hmm. Not surprising,” she mused. “If he has surgery scheduled today, he could be tied up for hours. You just have to hold tight until—”

  “I don’t have time to wait,” I cut in. “I need to get home ”

  So much for not getting baited.

  She was intentionally being obtuse. To prod me until I let slip some juicy detail. This was game—her way of fishing for information. She was testing the waters to see just how in over my head I was. So she’d know how much to charge.

  V hummed, like she was weighing the effort against the potential entertainment value. “Well, I’d love to help you, really, but I’m busy with work.”

  “How are you busy. You work your own hours.” I bit back.

  “I do, and right now I’m conducting a bit of... investigative journalism,” she said.

  “What kind of gossip column requires investigative journalism?” I said incredulously.

  “The kind,” she replied.

  I opened my mouth to respond, to press her, but she’d gotten me off on a tangent, and I needed a second to collect my thoughts. She smoothly flipped the conversation before I could.

  “AJ,” she said, tone deceptively light, “what’s going on?”

  I bristled. “As I said, my car just got taken, and I need to get back to Sandy’s as soon as possible.”

  She let the remark slide by, her voice staying pleasant. “And you can’t wait for JT to get off work because…? You know, if you’d just me what’s wrong, maybe I could help.”

  Objectively, she sounded genuine. But I knew better.

  This was how V operated. She spun concern and camaraderie into a web, waiting for me to blunder into it. If I told her the truth—if I told her about the wolf—she’d a way to make use of it. I was certain. Especially now that I knew she was a witch. Or something to that extent.

  She could find all sorts of silver linings.

  I could already hear her pitch. A lucrative side hustle, too good to pass up. Another strip club fiasco, but this time a dog show. Something that would make bank for the two of us and would cost me nothing but my dignity and sense of self-worth.

  But I didn’t want to make use of my lycanthropy. I wanted to get rid of it.

  V let the silence stretch, waiting for me to slip up. I scrambled for a way to deflect, but movement in my peripheral caught my attention.

  The bus:

  I’d been standing by the bus stop at Park Circle on the off chance the schedule was running late, and by the grace of God, it had paid off.

  CARTA, the Charleston Area Regional Transportation Authority, wasn’t exactly a public transit system to be proud of, but by American standards, it was far from the worst. It ran seven days a week and could get you anywhere in the city—or at least, anywhere eventually Buses came hourly at best, but usually on time.

  “You know what? I should be okay,” I said, my mind made up. “Looks like I can catch the bus.”

  V seemed unfazed. “Are you about that? The buses don’t usually run as late on a Sunday.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I lowered the phone as I stepped up to the bus sign.

  “AJ, you really shouldn’t—”

  I hung up before she could finish.

  V was trying to talk me out of it, especially now that she knew I was withholding information. She was a bloodhound for secrets—part point of pride and part obsession. Hanging up on her was effectively blue-balling her. There would be some hell to pay for that later, but damn if it didn’t feel empowering.

  The bus squealed to a stop, doors hissing open. Maggie padded along after me as I boarded. I flashed my old College of Charleston student ID at the driver. Students rode free—along with healthcare workers and kids under six. I was technically none of those things, having graduated almost four years ago, and the driver gave me a long, dubious look. He glanced at Maggie too, but I didn’t give him time to scrutinize either of us before moving to my seat. A bit rude, sure, but if being a little rude was what it took to get home, then so be it.

  The doors swung shut, and the bus lurched forward before I was fully settled. It was mostly empty—just me, Maggie, and a few other commuters. A lucky break. Fewer stops, fewer people. Fewer chances someone might look too closely and realize the fur wasn’t part of my clothing. Or that the odd bulge in my pant leg wasn’t a banana in my pocket, but an actual tail—one that kept twitching against my will.

  I kept my eyes on the time. Every minute brought me closer to moonrise. And every moonrise brought me closer to a felony.

  Exhaling, I sank into my seat. The bus rattled over uneven pavement, the low hum of the engine filling the space. I tried to relax, but my pulse stayed high.

  On my phone I retraced my route. From here, the Redmount Line would take me to the North Charleston Superstop, one of the city’s major transfer hubs. From there, I’d catch the , which would drop me at the Walmart on Bees Ferry—just a stone’s throw from Sandy’s house.

  The wolf normally wouldn’t wake up until nightfall, but she was still tuckered out from our scuffle with Monty earlier—and from me harassing her to help me hold a semblance of my human form. So, with a bit of luck, she’d sleep in. And, if I was really lucky, I’d have almost half an hour after the moon rose to get into Sandy’s barn and lock myself in.

  I’d already mapped out multiple routes. Back at IHOP, when V first roped me into this bullshit pet-sitting gig, I’d pulled up my map app to check how easy it would be for a wolf—or a naked, disoriented woman—to get home undetected.

  West Ashley had plenty of neighborhoods, but it had just as many, if not more, green, forested spaces. An ideal place for skulking. So, as long as I reached West Ashley, I’d be fine.

  I double-checked my route now, just to be sure. The map confirmed I’d reach my first stop in nine minutes—just enough time to catch the 7:30 bus into West Ashley. The Northbridge Line typically terminated at the Citadel Mall on weekdays, about four to five miles from Sandy’s. But on weekends, it ran all the way to the Walmart on Bees Ferry, barely a mile from Sandy and even bordered the CSX line: a safe, secluded route home.

  So even in the worst-case scenario where I ran out of time, I’d just get off early, transform, then cut through the woods. I'd be home and in the barn before moonrise.

  Solid plan.

  I just had to get there first.

  The bus pulled into the Superstop ahead of schedule—which, in real terms, meant it was right on time. I barely noticed the shuffle of passengers disembarking because my focus locked onto the Northbridge Line. My connection was already at the station.

  Once on the sidewalk I bolted for the bus, Maggie keeping pace at my heels. The bus doors were shut, but the driver was still in his seat. I rapped on the glass, heart hammering.

  After what felt like a full minute, the doors hissed open, and I hopped inside.

  “Thanks,” I gasped, hoping on and digging for my ID—which I kept in a card pouch on the inside of my phone case, along with my drivers license and credit card.

  “Whoa, whoa,” the driver said, holding up a hand. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I blinked. “West Ashley?”

  The driver gave me a long, measured look. “I’m about to go off shift. This is the inbound bus. It’s out of service.”

  My stomach lurched. “What? No—there’s supposed to be an outbound at 7:30.”

  I whipped out my phone and pulled up the schedule. The driver leaned in, squinting.

  “There is,” he said. “Tomorrow morning. 7:30. AM.”

  I stared at him.

  The driver tapped the screen. “See here? You got AM and PM mixed up.”

  Slowly, I scrolled back through the route I’d mapped.

  The times had started in PM. But at the Superstop transfer point, they’d switched to AM. That one-minute wait between transfers wasn't actually a wait. That was just how long Google Maps expected it would take me to walk from one side of the station to the other.

  The wait time?

  Twelve hours.

  Twelve goddamn hours.

  “First time taking the bus, huh?” the driver said.

  “Um, yeah.” I nodded dumbly, still parsing the consequences of this little, itty-bitty, oversight. It wasn’t my first time taking the bus, but it was my first time in a long time. And never this route. Never this late.

  The driver must’ve seen the horror dawning on my face because he shrugged, almost apologetic.

  “Sorry. Wish I could help, but there’s nothing I can do.”

  I swallowed hard. “Are there any other buses still running?”

  “None that’ll take you to West Ashley.” A pause. “You’ll have to call for a ride.”

  I stepped off in a daze, barely registering Maggie trotting beside me.

  Right. Me and what money? I needed a working credit card. Or cash. But I was literally down to two dimes. Couldn’t buy shit for two dimes.

  Maybe I could bum a ride off a stranger.

  Me. A young woman. Alone. In a bad part of town. Asking some rando for a lift.

  Yeah. No.

  It wasn’t that I couldn’t defend myself. Quite the opposite.

  I still had my gun. I still had Maggie. And soon, I’d have tooth and claw and a hair-trigger temper. My wolf hadn’t hurt anyone yet, but then again, it had never been locked in a car with a stranger. And while I about forty-five minutes before moon rise, and an hour before nightfall, those window of time meant nothing if the wolf decided I was in danger and took over early—like it had with Monty.

  I pressed the heel of my palm against my forehead, trying to hold my together.

  Wandering into the adjoining parking lot, I took bearing of my surroundings—

  And almost laughed.

  The Charleston County Department of Social Services sat directly across from the Superstop. And right beside it, the County Magistrate’s Office.

  I’d been here before. This wasn’t the courthouse, but one of several court offices. A few months ago, I’d stood in that very building, handing over the medical forms to get acquitted of my first round of charges for trespassing and public indecency. The result of my lycanthropy-induced sleepwalking.

  And now I'd found my way here again.

  I'd a feeling I'd be back.

  I let out a long, shaky breath.

  No choice. I had to call V back.

  But this time, there'd be no catch-and-release. Not after I'd just ding-dong ditched her.

  She was going to gut me.

  That meant telling her the truth. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

  Not the end of the world though. She’d find a way to help me—of course she would—but there would be strings attached.

  So many strings.

  And considering she was a witch, capable of who-knew-what, those strings could be problematic.

  But, frankly, all magic was problematic, and I'd yet to find anything to the contrary.

  But between the unknowable consequences of taking V’s help, and the known consequences of going full werewolf in the city, it was a no-brainer.

  Just had to consign my dignity to death.

  I pulled out my phone, scrolled to her contact—

  “Miss Avery?”

  The voice came from the isle of cars next to me.

  I froze.

  I knew that voice.

  Panic snapped me into action, stuffing the phone into my purse like a guilty teenager caught texting in class. A stupid reaction. I had nothing to hide.

  Well—aside from the whole werewolf thing.

  “I thought that was you.”

  The voice sent a bolt of raw terror through me, my tail curling between my legs.

  If I were capable of normal perspiration, I’d be drenched in cold sweat. Instead, my palms went clammy, my fingers trembled, and—unfortunately—I was still panting. My feet were… well, pretty much the same as they’d been all day.

  I was a hairy, sweaty mess.

  I forced myself to inhale through my nose, exhale through my mouth. It wasn’t working. Between my now frantic panting an elevated heart rate, I was practically vibrating.

  Of all the people in Charleston, in my hour of greatest need—why ?

  It was , goddammit. Public officials weren’t supposed to work on Sundays.

  But that scent—powdery and sharp, something citrusy and medicinal, laced with the faint tinge of tobacco smoke—was impossible to mistake. It had been ingrained in my psyche through too many unfortunate encounters. A conditioned fear response.

  I turned stiffly, already knowing who I’d see.

  Judge Childs.

  Judge Amanda-fucking-Childs.

  My stomach twisted. She wasn’t in her judicial robes, instead wearing a pastel blouse, a light blazer, tailored dark jeans, and block-heeled sandals—savvy southern chic. Her salt-and-pepper hair hung shoulder length in a layered short cut.

  “Um, evening, your honor.” My voice cracked. “Surprised to see you here.”

  She exhaled through her nose—not quite a sigh, but close. “Just catching up on paperwork. Tuesday’s a federal holiday, after all.”

  Just my luck.

  “But that begs the question—” She tilted her head, that subtle shift she always made before cross-examining someone. Or before watching them embarrass themselves in her courtroom. “What brings you here?”

  Yep. Called it.

  I swallowed. “I, uh, missed my bus.”

  She hummed low, considering. “Forgot to check the schedule?”

  My face burned.

  “I wasn’t planning on taking the bus today,” I said quickly. “But my car just got repo’d barely an hour ago.” The words came out sharper than I intended, but it wasn't like I was in a good headspace at the moment. Hard for a bag of stress to not sound... well, stressed.

  “If I’m not mistaken, you’ve known about that repossession order for almost a month.” Childs’ tone was even, but pointed. "You didn't make preparations?”

  I clenched my jaw, biting down the anger that flared up. It wouldn’t help me here. Nothing I said would earn Childs’ sympathy—nor did I want it. I just needed to get out of this conversation before I made it worse.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  “Look, your Honor—”

  “You’re not in court, Miss Avery.” The faintest hint of amusement edged her voice. “No need for formalities.”

  I hesitated. That felt like a trap.

  “Look, Mrs. Childs,” I tried again, treading carefully. “I lost my car today. I was evicted yesterday. I don’t have the means to pay for a ride. I’m staying with a friend while I get my shit together, okay? I’m . I am trying.”

  The words spilled out sharper than I meant them to. I exhaled hard, cutting myself off before I could start ranting.

  The last thing I needed was to lose my temper in front of her.

  My throat burned. Worse, my jaw ached—not just from clenching, but from the dull pressure of my canines digging into my gums. My teeth hadn’t sat right in my mouth all day, but it hadn’t mattered as much because I’d had my mouth open, panting. Now, I had to keep my mouth shut—figuritively and literally.

  And even if smiling could help ease the tension, it would be both terrifying and painfully ingenuine.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, using it as an excuse to cover my mouth as subtly as I could. The last thing I needed was for her to notice my teeth.

  Silence stretched between us. Then Childs sighed.

  “I’ve actually been meaning to clear something up with you,” she said, voice level but deliberate. “Regarding my recent ruling against you.”

  My heart stuttered. Childs wasn’t one to mince words, but damn if she didn’t know how to be blunt.

  “You mean the security deposit?” I asked warily.

  She nodded. “I got the impression you felt I was unfair in ruling in favor of your landlord.”

  I didn’t respond. Anything I said would sound petulant, and I refused to give her the satisfaction of thinking she could lecture me like some wayward juvenile in need of a lesson.

  Childs studied me for a moment. Then: “Do you know what rent acceleration is?”

  I frowned. “It means… they can demand all the remaining rent at once, right?”

  She nodded. “Your lease contained a rent acceleration clause. Were you aware of that?”

  My mouth opened, ready to fire back that I’d scrutinized my lease, but the words stalled.

  I had read it. But I hadn’t paid much attention to the violation clauses. Because, frankly, I never intended to violate my lease.

  Childs took my hesitation as an answer. “Had I ruled in your favor, Ms. Patterson would have instead filed to hold you liable for the remainder of your lease in full—six months’ rent—on top of the security deposit. And you’d still have been evicted.”

  The certainty in her voice made me uneasy.

  I blinked. “Wait, if she could have done that, then why didn’t she?”

  “She would have. But she was more interested in settling things quickly. Better to have you out than go through another month or so of litigation. And, so you know, by settling for your deposit, she can’t file any additional claims against you.”

  She gave me a pointed look. “ I believe you’re familiar with the term.”

  She had me at a lost, and she knew it. Despite all my cleverness, or financial savy, I'd still gotten myself caught in a classic contractual trap. And Childs had helped me out of. But I'd been too obtuse to realize.

  And now Childs was bringing home the point.

  Why was it that everyone—even my own mother—seemed to make a habit of dissecting me? Bringing my failures to light so easily, and then throwing them back in my face.

  Nothing but insult and injury.

  “This was the best compromise you were going to get,” Childs continued. “Patterson inherited several tenants from the previous owner, and this isn’t the first time she’s used my court to push one out.” A flicker of distaste crossed her face before her expression smoothed.

  I chewed on that, staring at the pavement.

  I wasn’t sure how to about it. I’d still lost the deposit. But… I had half-expected Patterson to come after me for more.

  I lifted my head. “So you’re saying you were me? Why?”

  A small, knowing smile tugged at Childs’ lips. “Because a punishment should serve to correct behavior, not needlessly ruin a person’s life.”

  Oh? So Childs subscribed to the school of utilitarian justice and I was being subjected to the rehabilitative qualities of the law?

  I could only be so lucky.

  I inhaled sharply. “And what about this mandated therapy I can barely afford?”

  “You can’t afford to seek help.” Childs gave me a level look, daring me to argue. “And, if I’m being honest, I doubt you would have sought help unless legally obligated to.”

  My mouth snapped shut. I looked away.

  She wasn't wrong.

  I I shouldn’t stay mad at Childs. Like it or not, she acted in my best interest—within legal means, of course. Or at least, she’d tried.

  But the issue was that Childs assumed I was just another citizen at risk of .

  Not a werewolf at risk of .

  Once again, my lycanthropy was at the root of my problems.

  Try as Childs might, if there were laws governing the punishment and treatment of werewolves—or any supernatural beings in general—they were well beyond the jurisdiction of civil court. Further, something told me they wouldn’t be centered around a rehabilitation style of justice. More likely, it’d be on of deterrence. Extreme deterrence. Like something on par with the Salem Witch Trials.

  Maggie shifted closer, stepping just slightly ahead—not quite defensive, but positioned enough to act as a buffer. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to protect from Childs or the other way around.

  Childs’ gaze flicked down to her. She extended a hand, palm open in greeting. Maggie hesitated, sniffed, then nuzzled her fingers politely.

  “This is the dog that got you evicted?” Childs mused. “Seems a shame.”

  I almost let her believe that. It wasn’t like it would do anything but hurt reputation, and I had no qualms about that.

  But something about lying to Childs—even by omission—felt wrong.

  “She’s not mine,” I admitted. “She belongs to my friend. I’m watching her while they’re out of town.”

  “I see.” Childs’ response was neutral, but there was something… unsatisfied about it.

  She studied Maggie’s collar, raising an eyebrow. Maggie licked her hand.

  “Actually…” I hesitated. “I’m hoping Sandy—my friend—can help me with my dog.”

  Childs gave me an inquisitive look. “How so?”

  I shrugged. “Training.”

  Not exactly a lie. Just… not the whole truth.

  I might not be under oath, but lying outright—especially to a judge—felt like tempting fate. After what I'd been through in the past two days, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Childs had some preternatural ability to detect bullshit.

  Then again, that could just be Katherine’s conditioning talking.

  But Childs probably didn’t need supernatural gifts to spot a lie. Her profession alone—and years of experience—had doubtlessly honed her skills as well as any magic. She'd probably seen it all.

  She seemed puzzled but let it drop. “So you’re staying with your friend. Where exactly, might I ask?”

  I hesitated. No way was I giving her Sandy’s exact address. But, I supposed a general answer wouldn’t hurt.

  “West Ashley.” I muttered.

  Childs hummed, considering. Then, after a pause, she said, “I live in West Ashley as well. It shouldn’t be too much of a detour to give you a ride.”

  A cold shiver ran down my spine.

  “No.” The word shot out too sharp, too fast. I scrambled to soften it. “I mean—I appreciate the offer, but that doesn’t seem appropriate.”

  One brow lifted. “How so?”

  I swallowed. “You’re—you’re a judge. judge. Multiple times. It feels—” , my brain supplied, but I didn’t say that—“improper.”

  She actually laughed.

  “Again, we’re not in court, Miss Avery. And I am currently off the clock. I’m just a normal citizen exercising my right to be a Good Samaritan.”

  I had no real counter to that. And it wasn’t like I had the luxury to be picky.

  I needed a ride. Direly.

  Still, every nerve in my body screamed that getting into a car with her was a terrible idea. That I’d be better off holing up in and abandoned building and taking my chances with the moon.

  But I’d been raised in the South. And if there was one thing you didn’t do in the South, it was refuse the generosity of an older Southern woman—especially one wielding authority. You swallowed your pride, accepted their goodwill, and braced yourself for the unspoken obligation that came with it.

  It was a trap. A polite, insidious, inescapable trap.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Thank you. I, uh, appreciate it.”

  Childs gestured toward her car, and Maggie and I followed dutifully.

  Childs drove was a Lexus GX—2017, if I had to guess. The kind of car I’d have put at the top of my wish list—if I had the money for such things. And just ranked it one of the most reliable used luxury SUVs for under 20k. So, it was either that or a Subaru Crosstrek—a more practical, compact SUV, with better gas mileage, four-wheel drive, and a more feasible price range.

  But the Lexus was, well... . Much nicer.

  And 2017 was a good year to have. Almost all car built during the pandemic had corners cut, losing out on advanced electronics due to supply-chain issues.

  This one, though, would have the bells and whistles.

  I opened the door for Maggie, then climbed in.

  As I buckled up, Childs pulled up the GPS on the dashboard console and glanced at me expectantly. “Got an address for me?”

  I gave her the address to the Walmart on Bees Ferry. She raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s easier to get to,” I said. “And just a short walk from home.”

  Again, not a lie.

  I heard Childs quietly snort, and even shake her had, as she typed it in—as if something had either amused or disappointed. Before she allowed the navigation to plot a course, she zoomed out—fingers panning over the map—dragging it away from the Walmart lot, then the navigation pin down nearby.

  Right on top of Sandy’s house.

  The navigation plotted a course for Wolff’s Lair Rd.

  My stomach dropped. Judge Childs knew who Sandy was and where she live.

  That was a bad sign.

  It had already occurred to me that Sandy had a bit of a reputation around West Ashley—given the reaction of the Costco shoppers to her dog van, and Patty’s response when I'd used her name on the church membership form. So it have been that much of a surprise that Childs, of all people, might have pieced together which Sandy I was talking about.

  But the fact that she had done it this quickly, with so little information, told me less about Childs deductive skills and more about how Sandy and earned her reputation.

  You didn't get on a judge's radar for being well-behaved.

  For someone like me, who was trying to keep her nose out of trouble, this did not bode well.

  “So you, um, know Sandy…” I trailed off.

  “I know her entire family, Miss Avery,” Childs said as she backed out of the parking space. She said this matter-of-factly, the way I would if I were trying to sound professional about a topic I had very ambivalent feelings about.

  Normally, I tried to say clear of topics like this. Especially when I wanted to be on good terms with someone. But now I’d somehow—against all hope and reason—stumbled into what felt like the conversational equivalent of a minefield.

  One wrong step…

  Fortunately, Childs seemed eager to keep talking, so I just shut up and listened.

  “I used to be close colleagues with Elenore, Sandra's aunt. We even went to law school together.” Childs continued as she pulled out of the lot and merged into traffic.

  Soon we were on Cosgrove Ave, the main road connecting North Charleston to West Ashley.

  My brain had stalled.

  Childs knew Sandy’s aunt. Nevermore’s original owner. And they even worked together.

  “Was Elenore a judge like you?” I asked, unsure of what else to say.

  “No,” Childs said, eyes on the road. “She was a state prosecutor. We both were, though I eventually took up the mantle of judge.”

  “So… what was she like?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. Wary I may be, but curious I was.

  “Good at her job. And one of the best cross-examiners I’ve ever known."

  That was… something to process.

  I’d known next to nothing about Sandy’s family before all this, and now it turned out her aunt had been a prosecutor. I thought back to what Nevermore had said about her—the way she could compel people with words alone.

  The idea of being interrogated by someone like that made my skin crawl.

  And I thought Katherine was scary.

  “Did you know JT and Sandy, then?” I asked.

  Childs nodded. “Of course. After Elenore passed away, I was made the trustee of her estate and their legal guardian until they were old enough to inherit the house.”

  My mouth went dry.

  “Huh. Small world.” I said, meekly.

  Inside, I was screaming.

  So, the judge presiding over my case had been the de facto godmother of the witch I was working for. Which meant she had a vested interest in Sandy’s well-being.

  Which meant she would absolutely care about the fact that Sandy’s prospective roommate was a werewolf.

  I pressed my knee against my tail to stop it from twitching, my anxiety clawing up my ribs.

  If Childs found out what I was—and that I was staying in the home of someone she personally cared about—her goodwill wouldn’t just evaporate. It could backfire.

  She had the power to make my legal situation hell. Worse than hell.

  I’d been walking a tightrope ever since I was cursed with lycanthropy, and Childs had, as I'd could to find out, been one of the few people helping me keep it steady.

  And she could cut that line whenever she wanted.

  I needed to get away from her. Every second I spent in this car, the more likely I was to bring my entire world crashing down.

  I glanced at the navigation screen.

  Just had to hold out for ten more minutes.

  Then I’d be home. I could breathe. And have enough time to prepare for moonrise.

  Unless—

  What if JT was already home? What if he invited her in for tea? This was the South, and when an old family friend stopped by, you invited them in. That’s just what you did.

  . No, JT was at work. He had surgeries, or consults, or something. He wouldn’t be there. Sandy wouldn’t be there. There’d be no reason for Childs to linger.

  I forced myself to focus on the road. The traffic. The rhythm of headlights streaking past. If I spiraled too hard, I’d trigger a shift. A threat, even a perceived one, would still get the wolf's attention. And the last thing I needed was to lose control in the passenger seat of a moving car.

  Steady breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Focus on the sensation. The motion.

  My pulse slowed. My chest loosened.

  As long as Childs didn’t hit me with another world-shattering reveal, I’d be fine.

  But the cosmos was cruel.

  As if on cue, Child said, “You know, I also knew your mother. She was an expert witness in several cases I oversaw.”

  I blinked. “My mom?”

  Childs nodded. “Yes. Though, more often, she was the plaintiff.”

  That didn’t track. Why would a horticulturist be called in as an expert witness? In civil court, of all places? There weren’t even juries in those cases.

  And as a plaintiff to boot?

  Katherine could be a bit litigious, sure, but I’d never heard of her suing anyone outside of that insurance dispute over a fender-bender.

  Childs gave me a puzzled look. Then, something clicked in her expression.

  “No, I meant Tessa. Your biological mother. She was an auditor for the state, if you recall.”

  And just like that, my pulse was jacked once again. This conversation had taken such a sudden turn to the personal that it had given me whiplash. And trying to process this while already on the verge of a panic attack was like trying to take a pill to save yourself from choking. It just didn’t work.

  But Childs wasn’t done.

  “When I was still a circuit court judge, she testified in multiple cases I oversaw—mostly in regards to financial fraud.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that.

  It wasn’t like I never thought about my mom—I had. Plenty. I became an accountant because of her. In a field that, at the time, was very much a boys’ club, she’d climbed her way up the ranks and built a reputation for herself. And then, as if in revenge for the opposition she’d faced, she became the thing all accountants feared most: an auditor.

  For the state, no less. Which was basically like working for the IRS—but you got to work more locally.

  She’d taught her once-misogynistic colleagues to in her presence. Because when you worked on government payroll, you were handling taxpayer money, and you’d be damn sure that every cent was tracked—for state agencies at least.

  And if that meant they'd have digging through waste bins to find a missing receipt from a work trip, you could bet she’d make them do it.

  All expenses funded through taxes would be accounted for.

  And there was nothing quite like making the man who once copped a feel dive through a dumpster. The ultimate embodiment of success.

  In short: I idolized my mom.

  But why was Childs bringing her up?

  Was this some kind of judgment? A reminder that my mother had been competent, reliable, someone who actually contributed to society—while I was a disgrace in comparison?

  No, that didn’t fit Childs’ style. She could be blunt, even harsh, but she wasn’t petty. And she wasn’t the type to make passive-aggressive jabs. It was almost like she was trying to have... a normal conversation with me.

  It was an alien feeling.

  I thought back to what she’d said in court, and what she’d spoken of earlier. Maybe she actually believed I still had some of my mom's potential. Maybe, in some baffling, incomprehensible way, she not only wanted me to get my life together but wanted to me do it. As if she were an old friend of the family.

  And that was the worst thought of all.

  Because it meant she saw something in me worth saving.

  Which meant she had significantly more room for me to disappoint her.

  I wished this car ride would end. I wished this would end. My head hurt. My stomach was empty. I couldn’t think straight like this.

  Still, Childs had known my mom. And she seemed to be inviting me to talk about her, like she knew I’d want to. Like she understood that this person, who had once been so central to my life, and had left it too soon, was someone I'd be eager to learn more about.

  Yet again, she wasn't wrong.

  But how was I supposed to approach something like that? Now of all times when I was barely keeping it together? For Childs, this was just a casual car ride, a moment of connection between two acquaintances with more in common than they’d initially thought.

  For me, it was the precursor to a complete mental—and technically physical—breakdown. I was basically a wolf in wearing a human-suit, and I was tearing at the seems.

  The best conversation outcome I could hope for was coming across as distant, maybe even apathetic. Like I didn’t care.

  Which would, of course, give Childs the wrong impression.

  What I needed was a raincheck. So way for me to deflect and talk this about the another time.

  Easier said than done.

  But, as I futilely trying to formulate a plan, I was ultimately saved by the bell.

  Or rather, my phone. Which rang.

  I would’ve ignored it, but I recognized the ringtone I set for JT—Robert Palmer’s

  What can I say? I was a sucker for the classics.

  JT was calling me back, so, naturally, I to pick up. I’d stuffed my phone in my bag earlier after Childs had ambushed me, which meant I had to dig for it.

  I unzipped the bag.

  And immediately regretted it.

  Because Elmo, whom I had completely forgotten about thanks to Childs’ dropping an existential crisis into my lap, took the opportunity to stretch his legs.

  As an arboreal tarantula, that meant finding something to climb.

  That something beingme

  And, boy, did he moved fast.

  One moment, I was reaching into my bag. In the next, he was scaling the side of my face.

  “Shit—Elmo, no!” I blurted.

  Which, in hindsight, was yet another poorly thought-out decision.

  Because my reaction, while more tempered than before, thanks to my exposure therapy, still caught Childs’ attention, and she turned to look.

  And her reaction was... not so tempered.

  It was, in fact, what you’d expect from someone who sees one of the world’s largest tarantulas scuttling around inside their car.

  She

  The car jerked.

  Tires hit the gravel shoulder—

  And we went nose-first into a ditch.

  Childs leaned against her Lexus, phone pressed to her ear, posture seemingly relaxed despite the fact that her car was now stuck on the side of the Glenn McConnell Expressway. Hazard lights blinked in steady resignation, waiting for a Triple-A tow truck to hoist it out of the ditch. Despite all its bells and whistles, the Lexus lacked the one thing it needed to get itself out of this mess: four-wheel drive.

  Maggie sat beside Childs, tongue out, panting gently in the sticky evening air. Meanwhile I paced along the shoulder of the road, every nerve in my body demanding movement. I needed to run. I needed to do something. The creeping edge of moonrise slithered under my skin, tightening its grip, but I was stuck—pinned between a social obligation and a biological countdown I couldn’t stop.

  I couldn’t leave. Not yet.

  Because Childs had my phone.

  All I needed in life were five things: a car, a credit card, a house, a job, and a phone—and by their powers combined, I would be a fully functional adult. But I was now down to just two of the five—probably even just the one, because my employment status was looking increasingly tenuous by the moment.

  So, before I could leave, I had to get my phone back.

  “Why, Dr. Caene, what a pleasure to hear from you again,” said Childs, addressing JT.

  “Amanda?” JT sounded genuinely confused—maybe even a little alarmed. Clearly, he’d expected me to be on the other end, and he wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear Childs instead.

  I flinched at the sound of his voice. My hearing, acute as it was, easily picked up his side of the conversation, even from several yards away.

  I dug my nails into my palms and turned my back on them. I’d tried to call JT once Childs and I had given up on getting her car out of the ditch—even attempted to push it myself, thinking maybe if I rocked it back and forth, I could get it unstuck. But unless I wanted to wake the wolf and enlist her help, I wouldn’t have the same raw strength I’d used against Monty. And I was not about to do that.

  So Childs had called for roadside assistance, and I had dialed JT. But when I told her what I was doing, she’d insisted on speaking to him herself. And by insisted, I meant she’d confiscated my phone like was my gradschool teacher.

  Not that I’d put up much of a fight.

  “Why are you calling me on AJ’s phone?” JT asked, his voice edged with suspicion. “What happened?”

  Childs’ tone remained pleasant, conversational even. “Well, you wouldn’t believe it. Here I was, giving Miss Avery a ride home after some… car troubles, and having a rather lovely chat with her. Imagine my surprise when I learned she was a friend of yours and Sandra’s. But, I daresay, I’ve gotten my car entrenched on the side of the road because—as crazy as it might sound—the largest spider I have ever seen in my life came scuttling out of her bag.”

  Elmo, the spider in question, was safely stowed back in my bag, where he wouldn’t cause any more fuss.

  My entire body cringed. From Childs’ saccharine tone—and JT’s exasperated sigh that followed—I could tell this wasn’t the first time the two of them had had a conversation like this.

  Childs continued her polite ribbing. “Seems your hired help shares your sister’s knack for carrying exotic creatures into public.”

  It appeared that I, for a lack of a better term, had just pulled a Sandy.

  “I’m sure she didn’t mean to bring her,” JT said, sounding worn-out. “Elmo can be clingy sometimes.”

  Childs hummed, considering. “I could swear I’ve heard this somewhere before. Though I think it involved a Komodo dragon and a rather comfy backpack.”

  She let the words hang in the air.

  “Do consider helping Miss Avery register with the DNR so she can legally transport any of the critters she may knowingly—or unknowingly—be lugging around.” A pause. “Wouldn’t want her getting into any more trouble.”

  My breath hitched.

  That implied I was already in trouble. A lot of it.

  And I could tell, without a doubt, that Childs was—putting it lightly—frustrated. This overly casual, somewhat friendly, almost teasing way of speaking was just a mask, a professional courtesy of sorts. And she was using it to grill JT. But whatever it was that actually her irritated, be it me, JT, Elmo, or the entire situation, I couldn’t tell.

  Hell, on the surface, it almost sounded like she was just offering JT legal counsel. In some roundabout way.

  “Look, I’ll discuss it with her,” JT said after a moment.

  That wasn’t a confirmation—yet another bad sign.

  What this meant was that JT hadn’t decided if I would stay.

  It could also mean that I had made such a spectacular mess of things that he wasn’t sure I could stay.

  I was running out of options faster than I could scramble to replace them.

  I hadn’t even secured the basics yet—pay, living arrangements, anything I’d planned to hold off on that, to prove myself first, to earn a better footing at the negotiation table. But after tonight? After everything?

  Damn. I should have at least haggled for a payment plan, so at least I wouldn’t leave empty-handed.

  My fingers twitched toward my pocket before I remembered—Childs still had my phone. I wanted to check the time, to see exactly how much I had left.

  I could feel it. The moon. Its creeping pressure at the base of my skull, the restless energy curling through my muscles.

  I had ten minutes. Maybe less.

  For all the time I’d saved by accepting a ride from Childs, I’d blown it all. Spectacularly.

  I bounced on my heels, torn. I needed to go. Now But I’d already caused Judge Childs—my magistrate, and JT’s childhood guardian—to crash her damn car. If I bolted now, that had to count as something Negligence? Leaving the scene of an accident? It wasn’t a hit-and-run—I hadn’t been driving—but I’d definitely be culpable for something

  I needed a plan. I needed my map. I needed my—

  My phone.

  Was she holding onto it on purpose? To keep me here? To make sure I exchanged insurance? To lecture me once she finished with JT?

  I took a sharp breath and forced myself to focus. I had studied the area before taking the job—scouted routes, noted the undeveloped patches of forest I could slip into. If I left, right now, I could still make it to one before moonrise.

  My brain worked through the numbers. If I followed Glenn McConnell Parkway, it was about a mile and a half to the overpass crossing the CSX train line. Safe route home, guaranteed.

  But I wouldn’t make it. Not in time.

  Even without Maggie slowing me down, I’d need to run a six-minute mile. For one and a half miles.

  That wasn’t happening.

  But West Ashley Park—barely a kilometer away—was wooded and far enough from residential areas to avoid prying eyes. I could make it there in time, shift, and then cut through the woods back home.

  That could work.

  I swallowed, trying to steady my breathing.

  Dr. Anderson said I had to control the panic response—focus on facts, on what I do, not on spiraling Intellectualize things. Break them down into tiny, bite-sized pieces I could wrap my head around.

  I had a plan. A good one—good enough, at least. And the wolf was still sluggish from Monty and the forced mid-day shift, so maybe——it’d sleep in a little longer.

  I just had to stay calm. Stay calm, talk to Childs, and—

  “AJ.”

  I flinched.

  Childs was watching me.

  I stiffened, pulse kicking up. Had she noticed something off?

  Was my tail sticking out?

  She lifted my phone. “JT would like to talk to you.”

  My stomach twisted. Of course he wanted to talk. Why wouldn’t he? I’d been the one to call him, after all. He’d want to know why. Hear my side of the story. All so he could make his final judgment.

  I had a feeling I wouldn’t like what came next.

  I cleared my throat and forced a light, easy tone. “Hey, JT.”

  “So tell me what happened?”

  No greeting. A another bad sign. He was either very pissed, or very stressed.

  I inhaled through my nose, exhaled through my mouth—buying a second to filter my response.

  “I went into town to grab some stuff from my storage unit. Clothes, money—things I forgot to pack.”

  Silence. Expectant.

  “And you brought Maggie with you,” he said finally.

  Right. I’d mentioned that in the voicemails.

  I hesitated. “Well, yeah. I needed her help.”

  “For what?”

  I rocked back on my heels, acutely aware of Childs a few feet away. Even if she wasn’t looking at me, I could the weight of her listening. She was digging through her purse, appearing disinterested in my conversation—but nonetheless present.

  I ran a hand through my hair, gripping the roots before forcing myself to let go. In times like this, it was better to rip the bandage off and be done with it.

  “Because Boden’s missing,” I finally said.

  There. I did it. Weight off my shoulders. Right?

  Silence.

  Then: “What?”

  I swallowed. “Maggie and I tracked him to Park Circle, but we still haven’t found him.”

  “Back up. did he go missing?” JT interjected.

  Right. I was getting ahead of myself.

  I clenched my jaw. I knew exactly when Boden had disappeared—down to the approximate hour—but admitting that meant explaining I knew, and that was a conversation I wasn’t ready for. Couldn't rightly tell JT how I—or, more accurately, my wolf—had taken the dogs out hunting and then misplaced one of them.

  That was well beyond the scope of this conversation.

  Besides, Judge Childs was literally standing right next to me.

  “Sometime this morning,” I replied. “I found out after you left when I went to feed the animals. I’ve been looking for him ever since.”

  JT exhaled sharply, irritated. “And you didn’t tell me this earlier because...?”

  “Because you were busy with work,” I said. “And I figured I’d do some of the legwork first. But I genuinely didn’t think he would’ve gone that far.”

  He didn’t say anything right away. I could practically hear him chewing the inside of his cheek. Before he could dig in, I pressed on.

  “I’m pretty sure someone took him in,” I said. “And, I checked the lost and found boards for Park Circle, both online and in person, to see if anyone reported him.”

  JT was quiet for another moment, then asked, “How are you even sure he made it to Park Circle?”

  “I—”

  I hesitated.

  It was the same problem Nevermore had pointed out when he asked why I hadn’t reported the cologned man to the police. How did I explain something when I had no admissible way of knowing?

  Especially with Childs within earshot.

  A soft click.

  A second later, the sharp scent of burning tobacco hit me. I turned, catching Childs lighting a cigarette, the ember flaring as she took a slow drag.

  For some reason, of all the things she’d done so far, was the most jarring.

  It was so… . So human.

  The casual work attire, the quiet confidence—it was a far cry from the Judge Childs I’d met in court. That version had been austere, deliberate, polished down to the pause. But this? This was someone new. Someone who knew exactly who she was and had nothing to prove.

  In a way, it reminded me of Candice—though she didn’t smoke anymore.

  The effect was.. calming.

  “Look, just trust me on this, JT.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “I have a few select talents, and this is one of them. And you and I both know Sandy’s pets get up to stranger things than this.”

  I wasn’t sure if JT found that answer satisfactory, but he didn’t press further. Instead—

  “I’ll call my colleagues in the area, have them keep an eye out for a dog matching Boden’s description. I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually.”

  There was a bit of an edge in his voice I couldn’t place, something he wasn’t saying. But, if I had to guess, it boiled down to: Or something like that.

  I exhaled, tension easing from my shoulders. At least I wasn’t the only one looking anymore.

  JT changed topics. “How far are you from home? Do you need a lift? I should be off in the next half hour, though it’ll take me about ten to fifteen minutes to get to you.”

  He was offering to help. That was a good sign. But, alas, not good enough

  I glanced up the road, which curved sharply northward before disappearing from sight. If I took a right at the next intersection and really booked it, I could make it to the park in in just a few minute. Assuming I left in the next several seconds.

  “Thanks, JT, but I’m close enough to walk home. It’ll be faster anyway.”

  “All right then. Stay safe. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  I thought that was the end of it—I was already moving to hang up—when JT added, “Oh, and AJ?”

  “Yeah?” I relied.

  “When I get home, we need to talk.”

  The call ended before I could ask about what he meant.

  I stared at my phone.

  Of all the dubious, dread-inducing phrases, it had to be that one.

  That was the kind of thing you said before breaking up with someone. Or before laying off an employee.

  He probably meant it in a harmless kind of way, but how the hell was I supposed to know

  Well, whatever it was, it would have to wait until tomorrow morning. I had more pressing things to deal with.

  I shoved my phone into my bag—half out of necessity, half out of spite. That habit had already cost me once today, but I couldn’t run with it in my pocket, and I was about to need to haul ass.

  “So, I suppose you’ll be heading off now?” Childs chimed in.

  She was still leaning against her car, watching me with an unreadable expression. The cigarette smoldered between her fingers, smoke curling lazily in the damp air.

  She looked more relaxed now—a smoke break to take off the edge.

  Then she leveled me with a look so measured, so assessing that my skin crawled.

  Or maybe that was just my body anticipating moonrise.

  These things were hard to tell.

  Still, this felt like a trap. Like if I answered wrong, I’d suddenly find myself booked for whatever crimes I’d technically committed today.

  I fumbled for an answer. “Yeah, I, uh—I need to get Maggie home. And check on the animals. I’ve been gone too long as it is.”

  Childs arched a brow.

  I backpedaled immediately, shrinking under the weight of her scrutiny. “I mean, if that’s okay with you? Do you need my auto insurance or… something?”

  She exhaled through her nose—somewhere between amusement and exasperation. Smoke curled in the air between us, the cigarette balanced loosely between her fingers.

  “No. That won’t be necessary. My car’s already insured. Besides, I doubt your insurance would cover this even if you were at fault.”

  “Look, if there’s anything I can do—”

  “Oh, there most certainly is.” Her gaze leveled me.

  I held my breath.

  “Stay out of trouble.”

  She took another slow drag, exhaling before adding, “Granted, I realize that’s a bit of a tall order. Not just because you’re you but because you’re staying with Sandy. That girl has a good heart, but she’s even more of a train wreck than you. Which is saying something.”

  Childs certainly knew how to be blunt.

  She sighed, rubbing at her temple. Likely, the thought of the two of us, Sandy and I, was weighing down in her mind.

  I was already being grouped together with Sandy by everyone associated with us, and I still barely knew her. Sure, I called her my friend, but I hadn’t spoken to her in almost four years. Yet now? You’d think we were siblings.

  Childs paused, then added as if it were an afterthought, “For JT’s sake, let’s hope I don’t have to see you again.”

  A beat.

  “I mean you understand. I’ve got enough gray hairs as it is.”

  I cleared my throat. “Sooo… it’s okay if I start heading home?”

  I didn’t want to sound tactless, but I also didn’t have time to be.

  Childs waved me off. “Triple-A is on the way. I’ll be fine.”

  I nodded stiffly. My mouth nearly ran ahead of me with an automatic but I caught myself, stammering out instead, “Uh—thanks. For your help.”

  Childs just looked at me, taking another drag. A clear enought indication that I was good to GTFO.

  I turned on my heel and jogged—not ran—away, briskly. Maggie at my side.

  Not too fast. That would look odd. Suspicious. Impolite, even.

  But once I was far enough along the curve in the parkway, with Childs safely out of sight, I dropped all pretenses—

  And broke into a sprint.