Had anyone seen her? Had she left a trail to her house? She rushed to the window and looked out. A mist rose from the grass, but there was nothing unusual outside.
What if Esmé came in? She ran to the door and locked it. Despite the cool breeze she was bathed in sweat. She had to hide the hand until she could get it out of the house.
She looked around desperately. The wolves painted on the wall seemed to laugh at her. She yanked open the closet door. In a boot? No, she’d never wear them again. She noticed a Timberland shoe box up on the shelf. Perfect. She nudged the top off, retrieved the hand, and, carrying it gingerly by its waxy thumb, reached up and dropped it in. There was a rustle of tissue paper, and for one heart-stopping moment she imagined it writhing in there. She stifled a hysterical giggle and dropped the lid on the box.
Esmé was still in bed; her door was closed. Rudy was out. Vivian showered and dressed as fast as she could; then she shook the hand from the box into a cheap nylon fanny pack, which she strapped on. Her skin crawled as she walked out the kitchen door.
In the thickest part of the undergrowth out back, she sat on her haunches and rubbed garlic and pepper into the hand as if it were a leg of lamb. She hoped the smell would drive away any dog that might try to dig it up.
I can’t believe I’m doing this, she thought. She’d had dreams that seemed more real.
She couldn’t seem to make a hole deep enough.
Just a few more inches, she kept on telling herself.
I can’t let anyone discover it.
If Gabriel found out he’d kill her for the safety of the pack, whether or not he wanted her for a mate. She saw in the granite of Gabriel’s face swift justice and questions later, no matter what he said about being a good listener and his boasts of muscle to spare for her protection.
Finally she tossed the hand in and scrabbled to fill the hole, her knees bent ready to dive through the scrub if anyone approached, her mouth metallic with fear. She prayed to the Moon that it would stay there undisturbed.
Inside, Esmé was up. She sat at the table drinking a cup of coffee while a news show on the radio droned on quietly. Tomas was with her. They looked like a wet funeral.
“Look who came tapping at my window at dawn,” Esmé said, with only a glimmer of her usual sly grin.
Vivian’s breath caught in her throat, but nothing in Tomas’s expression suggested that their paths had crossed. “What’s up?” she asked, knowing already.
Esmé got up for another cup from the cabinet. “Someone found another body. The news said it was mutilated, but they wouldn’t say how.”
“The police hold that sort of information back,” explained Tomas. “That way only the real killer will know the details, and they can weed out cranks who confess for attention.”
“Where was it found?” Vivian asked.
“Over by the university,” Esmé answered, bringing Vivian some coffee. “Behind one of the temporary buildings where they’re gonna build the new art department.”
The street Kelly lived on was only blocks from that side of the campus.
“I know, baby,” Esmé comforted, misinterpreting Vivian’s pale face. “We all feel the same way.”
Tomas reached out and stroked Esmé’s hand. She grabbed his fingers and held on. “What must you think of us?” she said. “Honestly, you just happened to come along right when things started to go crazy. We’ll get this mess sorted out…” She realized she was babbling and shut up.
The sound of the radio seemed to swell to fill the void left by her silence, so no one missed the news bulletin:
“In a bizarre new twist in the latest, so-called ‘beast murder,’ an inside source reports police have been the recipient of an anonymous phone call claiming the two murders are the work of werewolves. Chief Detective Sirilla refused to comment.”
The news reporter had some difficulty concealing his amusement, but regained his awareness of bad taste before he made a joke.
“These are, of course, serious crimes, and police would appreciate any real information that would lead to an arrest.”
Esmé leaned back in her chair and turned off the radio. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“But who would know?” Tomas asked. “Who could possibly know?” He was flushed and angry.
Vivian was well aware of who it was.
How could he do that? she thought in dismay. After all those sweet kisses, how could he think she could kill? She might doubt herself, but she had given him no reason to doubt her. Just because she could change into an animal didn’t mean she would behave like a mindless brute. Then she remembered shredding Kelly’s clothes.
Sweet Moon, she thought.
Why wouldn’t he think me capable of violence?
Something else chilled her: The newscaster had said werewolves. But newspeople got details wrong all the time, she’d heard. Maybe Aiden had told the police werewolf, singular. He couldn’t have said werewolves.
What did I tell Aiden when I changed? she thought. Had she at any time implied that there were more than one of her kind? Had he guessed that her whole family was like her?
“They won’t believe the caller,” Tomas said. “They’ll think he’s a nut.” He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as much as Esmé.
“But what if there’s one of those vigilante creeps out there?” Esmé asked.
Vivian rose to leave the kitchen, afraid of what was showing on her face. “Bathroom,” she mumbled as she went through the door to the dining room.
Aiden wouldn’t have expected his phone call to make the news.
He must be wetting his pants right now, she thought.
He’ll know I know who told.
The idea should have cheered her up; instead it depressed her.
I would never hurt you, she promised silently.
I couldn’t hurt you. I love you.
She gazed out the dining room window in time to see two police officers coming up the front path.
“Go get Gabriel,” Esmé told Vivian.
“No, I’ll go,” Tomas said, scrambling to his feet and flying through the back door.
“Thanks a lot for your support,” Esmé called after him. “Well, answer the door then,” she snapped at Vivian in a voice brittle with nerves. “You saw them coming.”
Vivian walked briskly to the door before she could change her mind and run off like Tomas.
“We’d like to speak to Vivian Gandillon,” said the woman cop, and Vivian’s heart flip-flopped.
“That’s me,” she said. Her words came out in a squeak.
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