Frostbitten

"Nice, but it looks a little small for you."

He rolled his eyes.

"Okay," I said. "I give up. What did you want with his jacket?"

"It's not his. It's De

"De

"I smelled him on it when I was checking Podrova for ID. So I took it. No mutt is being buried in De

I pulled it from the bag. "This isn't De

"Well, it smells like De

He motioned for me to sniff the inside. I did and De

A smile creased Clay's eyes. "Admitting you're wrong, darling?"

"Not about that. Something bigger. At De

It was Clay's turn to curse, taking the jacket, inhaling deeper and cursing again.

"We need to talk to Joey," I said.

I'D ALREADY NEEDED to talk to him-about this "deal" with the mutts and his lie about not encountering them. And now this: the existence, or former existence, of a Stillwell that Jeremy knew nothing about.

But this wasn't the sort of conversation we could have in Joey's office. We'd need to waylay him as he left work, and hope he didn't decide to put in too much overtime.

It was only midafternoon, meaning we couldn't talk to Joey for a few hours. That was fine, because right now, neither of us was in the mood for that conversation. We were tired and hungry and sore, and all we wanted was to crash in our hotel room… which was a problem.

"Already taken care of," Clay said. "I called Jeremy when we first split up. He'll have something booked for us by now."

First, though, we had to retrieve our stuff. My steps slowed as we entered the lobby, certain I could pick up the faint smell of Travis Tesler, my stomach knotting at the thought of going up there, smelling him, smelling what he'd done.

"Take a seat," Clay said, waving at the armchairs in the middle of the lobby. "Call the kids."

I hesitated.

"Plenty of people around," he said. "It's safe."

"That's not what I meant. I should help-"

"Sit."

When he started walking away, I called him back and leaned in closer to whisper, "My clothes. The ones he… "

"In the nearest trash, along with anything he so much as touched."

"Thanks."

"Hey, if you have to walk around naked for a few days, I'm not complaining."

I managed a smile, then picked a seat with my back to the ma

I talked to Kate first. I started by reassuring her that we were coming home as soon as possible, fending off the problems Jeremy had with her earlier. It worked.

She told me about her day, specifically di

It was a silly little ritual. The kind three-year-olds love, one that keeps evolving and every step must be performed every time and it's just as hilarious the tenth time as the first.

When Clay came down, I started to stand, but he motioned that he'd check us out and I should keep talking. I still passed him the phone and hurried off before he could argue. I wasn't the only one who could use the grounding of our daughter's chatter. As I walked away, I heard her saying, "And Jaime made us pancakes, but she… " and I smiled.

PROFESSOR

"NOW THIS IS more like it," Clay said as we walked into our new hotel room.

I tossed my suitcase in the corner and headed for the room service menu. Clay snatched it first.

"Excuse me," I said. "You're supposed to be reading De

"My stomach exercises its power of veto. Food first, work later."

AN HOUR LATER, his stomach full, Clay was propped up at the head of the bed, reading De

The most popular shape-shifting form, though, is canine. Maybe that's proof that humans are, in some way, aware of us. But canines are also the animal they're most familiar with, from the companion dog to the predatory wolf. Canines work beside humans, live with humans and have, for centuries, competed with them, for both food and territory. Is it any wonder that when people imagine the animal shape of their dreams and nightmares, it's the dog, the fox, the jackal, the wolf?

In almost any culture that has canines, you'll find tales of hybrids or shifters. The Flemish have the monstrous black doglike Kludde, the Japanese have the raccoon-dog shifting Tanuki and the fox-shifting Kitsune, Ethiopia has the wolf-dog Crocotta, North American Natives have their coyote and wolf shifting skin-walkers.

Clay knew all of them, but as he read, he infused every scrap of well-trodden myth with the excitement and passion of a new discovery. This was another part of Clay. The father, the lover, the enforcer and the professor. Four sides entwining into a whole-simple yet complex, fascinating and infuriating.

I propped myself on one elbow and leaned over to look at him, my hair grazing the notes in his hand.

"I love you," I said.

He swiped my hair away. "You interrupted my lecture for that? Tell me something I don't already know."

"I hate you."

"Know that, too. Keeps things interesting. Now where was I?"

"Pompously expounding on the arcane minutiae of shape-shifting lore."

"Been doing that for the last hour. Question is: which bit of minutiae was I expounding on?"

I lifted the notes to his nose.

"Ah, the tlahuelpuchi. Actually, more a vampire myth than shapeshifter-"

"Similar to the nagual," I said, "but differing in both the variety of transformation and the transmission of the power. A nagual shifts into recognizable animal form and is believed to learn the craft, while the tlahuelpuchi curse is inherited and the cursed being shifts into a bestial form, often resembling a bird, such as a vulture or that over looked horror movie possibility-the dreaded were-turkey."