“Shall we fix him for you?”
I looked to Jake. He seemed baffled. I shook my head. “No. He and I need to talk.”
“As you like. No one will believe him anyhow.”
The Shadow changed back to a shadow, and I unlocked the doors.
Dren’s car was nicer than mine. I wondered darkly if I’d get to keep it. Jake and I drove along in silence. I almost hoped he’d speak first—I sure as hell didn’t know how to start this conversation.
“Jake—”
“Turn here.” He pointed at an exit coming up.
“But that’s not—”
I looked at the hand. It wasn’t Jake’s anymore. I gasped, and then realized Jake was transitioning to look like Asher.
“It’s the way to my house. I don’t have cab fare on me. Plus, I doubt we’d see any cabs,” Asher said, in his gentle British accent.
I hauled my car over onto the on-ramp. A fleet of emergency vehicles was sprinting the other way—the Shadows had a lot to fix, before dawn. “You—you! You touched him, didn’t you!”
Asher shrugged, as if it wasn’t worth making the point. “It wasn’t hard. Your brother loves you, deep down inside. I just had to convince him you’d be better off without him, to get him out of town. Four hundred dollars didn’t hurt, either.”
I beat on my steering wheel.
“Why? He’s safe—I saw him before I left tonight,” Asher said.
“It’s not that, dammit—” I sank forward, shoulders slumped. I was glad the Shadows had kept him clean so far, despite his four-vial-a-day habit of paw-print juice. But who knew if the Shadows would keep him clean, now that I’d been shunned? Also, with the demise of his hookup for Luna Lobos, I had no doubt he’d find harder things to sell. He’d never know that all of its purported health benefits had been a placebo for him, entirely in his mind.
I followed Asher’s directions to his house, without saying anything. I pulled up into his driveway, in silence. He turned toward me. “No matter what happens to your brother, she’s right. It’s safer this way.”
“I know. I agree.” I stared at my steering wheel. I couldn’t deny it after tonight. I’d been struggling to play along ever since I’d gotten stabbed. It was lunacy.
“Edie—being shunned—it’s everybody. Shapeshifters too.”
I kind of figured as much, but I hadn’t admitted it to myself. I nodded at the dashboard of my car.
“Edie—”
I turned toward him and stuck out my hand. He looked blankly at it. “Really? Just a handshake?”
I looked at him in the half dark. “No.”
He reached for me, and I leaned into him. Our lips met halfway and I kissed him hard, and he kissed just as hard back. Everything I’d ever screwed up I wanted to let go now, and just think about this, because if I thought about anything else I would cry.
And in thinking too much about not thinking about anything, I missed it. His lips pulled away. He pulled back, studying my face like he was afraid he’d forget it—which I knew, for him, was a lie. He didn’t say anything else, just turned, opened the car door, and walked away. He didn’t look back. I knew because I watched him, hoping he would.
I started my car back up again and pulled out of his driveway.
It was almost dawn when I reached my apartment’s parking lot. I pulled into the first spot I saw and walked my way in. A person emerged from the shadows and joined me.
“I want my keys,” Dren said, walking alongside me.
“Aren’t you supposed to be shunning me now?” My feet made crisp sounds in the snow.
“Shuns usually go into place at dawn. Gives aggrieved parties a last chance to settle scores.”
“I suppose that’s type of technicality a Husker would know.”
He held out his shorter arm toward me. “You still owe me for my hand.”
“Being shunned doesn’t dissolve my debts?”
“No. I just won’t be able to bother you about them now.”
I stopped, and Dren did too. “That doesn’t make sense.”
He grinned maliciously—it even went up into his grass-green eyes. “Let’s just say I have a feeling we’ll be seeing you again.”
I opened my mouth. I wanted to say, I hope not. I thought I’d mean it. But the truth was I really didn’t know. I hated where I’d been tonight, but I was scared of the normal life that lay in front of me, too. I tossed his keys up, and he caught them.
“Besides, Edith. You’re the type that gets into trouble, or gets dead.”
I closed my mouth without saying anything at all. He gave me a flourishing bow and veered off, walking away through the snow.
I arrived at my door and unlocked it. Inside my apartment, the carpeting was still new, and I stepped onto it, feeling like I’d stepped onto the ground of an unknown world.
I took a shower and I waited up. And once dawn came, I slept.
Read on for a sneak peek at the next book in Cassie Alexander’s Nightshifted series
SHAPESHIFTED
Coming Summer 2013
I’d lost fifteen pounds in six months.
Being a nurse, I’d run through the worst-case scenarios first: cancer, diabetes, TB. When I’d checked my blood sugars and cleared myself of coughs and suspicious lumps, I was left with the much more likely diagnosis of depression. Which was why I was here, even though here was an awkward place to be.
“I can tell you anything, right?” I asked as I sat down across from the psychologist.
“Of course you can, Edie.” She gave me a comforting smile, and adjusted her long skirt over her knees. “What do you feel like talking about today?”
I inhaled and exhaled a few times. There didn’t seem to be any good way to launch into my story. “Hi, I used to work with vampire-exposed humans. Once upon a time, I dated a zombie and a werewolf. So, you know, the usual.” I snorted to myself and admitted: “I’m not sure where to begin.”
“Anything that feels comfortable for you is fine. Sometimes it takes a few sessions to rev up.”
“Heh.” Six months was a long time—I should be getting over things already. Things like being fired … well, shunned, which felt a lot like firing. Maybe I should have let them wipe my memory when I’d had the chance. Figures I would make the wrong decision. “I’ve just been through a rough time lately.”
“How so?”
“I had this job that I really enjoyed. And I had to leave it. To go elsewhere. Ever since then, my life just feels … plain.” I’d spent the end of winter up through July working full-time night shift in a sleep apnea clinic, monitoring patients while they slept. It was dull. My skin was paler than ever, and my social life was long gone.
There was a pause while she attempted to wait me out. When I didn’t continue, she filled the gap. “Let’s talk about what you used to enjoy. Maybe we can figure out what you enjoyed about it, and think how you can bring those qualities over into your current situation.
“Well. My co-workers were good people. And my job was exciting.” I paused, chewing on the inside of my cheek.
“What was exciting about it?” she encouraged me.
I looked at her, at her nice office, nice couch, nice shelves with nice things. It must be nice to be a psychologist. I looked back at her. She smiled, and opportunity blossomed inside my heart. We, she and I, had patient-therapist privilege. I knew the boundaries; as a registered nurse, I was a mandated reporter, too. As long as I wasn’t a danger to myself, or to anyone else, she’d have to keep what I told her quiet. It wasn’t like she was going to believe me, besides.