In the room, I scented cleansers, fabric fresheners, Misha, perfume, and herbal bath products; I also smelled another human, a child. But there was something else beneath the familiar scent of Bobby and the smell of a hotel room, something not quite right. I felt Beast stir and stare out at the world through my eyes. I drew in the air, uncertain of the strangeness in the weak scent. Something chemically astringent and harsh, and something else—something sickly. “I missed you too, Bobby boy.”

Gently I pushed him back and blinked away the tears to study him with my eyes, rather than just my nose and hands, seeing the teenager he had been and the man he was now. Bobby would never grow up like other people did; he’d always have the mental capacity of a ten-year-old, always filled with the wonder, the joy, and the hopefulness of a child. But he had grown older. He had fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and his freckles had grown closer together than when he was a teenager. The extra pounds I had felt in the hug were well distributed on his frame, and the weight looked good on him.

“You’re different,” he said, squeezing my shoulders. “All muscley.”

“And you grew at least ten inches,” I hyperbolized. “You grew up on me.”

“Come on in and meet little Charly.” Bobby took me by the hand and led me into the living room area of the suite. A little girl was curled up on the sofa, watching TV. “Charly, this is Jane.” The little girl waved to me shyly. “Jane, this is Charly. She’s Misha’s little girl and my best friend.” The child was maybe seven or eight, skinny and pale, with thin brown hair cut in a pageboy to her ears. She was bundled up in pink velour sweats that were sized to grow into, and a blanket covered her legs. She wore a pearl ring on her left hand, something that looked too adult for her but seemed to fit. I lifted my hand in greeting, and she pulled the blanket up to her chest as if uncomfortable with my gaze, so I looked away and took in the suite.

Misha had paid for a hospitality suite with adjoining rooms. Fancy digs for a reporter-turned–book writer. There were children’s books and toys in a large wicker basket, a lavender hoodie jacket on a hanger on a hat rack instead of pitched over a chair back, a pair of women’s running shoes placed precisely side by side below the jacket, a packet of folders lined up neatly at the corner of a table. From the way her shoes were lined up and her hoodie so carefully hung, I didn’t think the control freak I remembered had changed all that much. A coat sized for Bobby was on a hanger on a doorknob to a room with two double beds. Across from it was a room with a king-sized bed. The place was decorated in beige and a soft rosy red, with dark wood furniture. A soothing palette.

Bobby said, “Misha is in the bathroom. We’re watching Disney. Charly likes The Lion King.”

I nodded, scenting again that faint hint of sickness. I looked Bobby over and thought about his scent rising to me when we hugged; he was fine. I looked at Charly again, my nose tracking both the sickness and the scent of chemicals to her. Her paleness wasn’t natural to her skin tone, but was the pale of anemia. Her hair lacked the sheen a child’s usually had, and was dull and far too thin. On the sofa arm beside her was a small clump of hair. There was another clump on her shoulder. And a small bald patch on her crown.

Her hair was falling out.

Charly was getting chemo.

Kit, Beast thought at me, staring at Charly. Sick kit.

I stood rooted to the floor, horrified and totally out of anything that might have resembled a comfort zone. I was in a hotel room with Bobby Bates and a very sick child. Fortunately, before I had to react to my sudden new knowledge, I heard a noise from the open door.

CHAPTER 3

I’ll Break Every Finger . . . One by One

A door opened in the room with the large bed and I turned in time to see a light switched off and shadows move. I had no idea what to do with my hands so I tucked them into my jeans pockets, but that felt posed so I gripped them behind my back, which felt even more posed, and I realized I was nervous.

Beast, who had been oddly silent, chuffed with amusement. Jane is afraid of prey.

Not afraid, I thought back. Uncertain, maybe. And she isn’t prey.

Prey or hunter. Or plant. Or earth and rock. Or water and air, she added with a soft snort. There is nothing else.

I stifled a sigh just as Misha walked into the room. She had changed since the children’s home. She was taller, her hair worn in a chic, tousled bob, and much blonder. The highlights made her blue eyes look bluer and accented her sharp cheekbones. She was wearing jeans and layered T-shirts in bright blues, shades of royal and indigo, fuzzy socks on her feet, and was color coordinated from top to toe. Her only jewelry was a large pearl wrapped in silver dangling on a silver chain. She moved with an unself-conscious poise. Misha had grown up. She stopped in the doorway and we stared at each other, silent. In the background, the volume went up on the TV as the kids got bored with watching us. I recognized strains from the animated Disney movie as I studied the woman in the doorway.

Beast was good at waiting games, but my nerves didn’t let me wait it out. I lifted a shoulder in a tentative shrug. “Hi.”

A slow grin spread across her face. She’d had her teeth fixed, and the effect was blinding white against her pale skin and all that blue. She looked gorgeous. “Hi back. Are we supposed to hug?”

I didn’t know what my face showed, but whatever it was made her laugh softly. “Yeah. I’m not much of a hugger either. And it feels stupid to shake hands.” When I didn’t respond, she said, “You’ve met Charly?”

I nodded.

“I have coffee and tea on the way up.”

“Tea, please,” I said, with my best children’s-home manners. Then, because I was getting more nervous, I added, “You look gorgeous.”

“And you look dangerous.” She flashed me a quick smile and I knew that she meant it as a compliment. “Just like you did back in the home, except with better-quality clothes.” She tilted her head. “I never had a chance to thank you.”

I just stared, not knowing what she was thanking me for, but obscurely pleased by the compliment.

“For what?” I finally said.

“Do you remember Ann Shelton?”

Instantly the vision of the bitter, angry girl flashed into my memory. Blond and blue-eyed, her mouth turned down in fury. She would have been cute except for the constant rage. Ann had picked fights anywhere she could, anytime she could, with any girl she could. Her forte was goading them into fighting and then ripping off the clothes of her victims, leaving them exposed, crying, and hurting. I had hated her, totally and without shame. “Yeah,” I said. “I remember. But I haven’t thought of her in years.”

“She was taunting me one day in school, in the gym locker room after volleyball practice. Her buds were around her, laughing. I was crying. I knew what was coming. And she pushed me. I hit a wall at my back. All I remember is that suddenly she wasn’t in front of me anymore. You were. And you said, ‘The next time I see you picking on anyone—anyone—I’ll make sure it’s the last time you do. Ever.’

“And Ann got up in your face and said something stupid like, ‘Yeah? Whatchya gonna do, bitch?’ And you got this look on your face. This look. And your voice dropped to this slow growl, and you whispered, ‘I’ll break every finger in your hands. One by one. And then I’ll break your nose so it will never heal right. And I’ll blacken both your eyes. And then I’ll break both your knees. You’ll be disfigured and have to go through multiple surgeries. And you’ll never be the same again. Ever. And if your little girlfriends try to stop me, I’ll do the same to them. One by one. Got it?’”

As she spoke, I remembered that incident and said softly, “Ann said I’d go to juvie.”

“And you said it would be worth it. And I never thanked you.”

I shrugged and crossed my arms over my chest. “I didn’t remember it was you. I just wanted to make sure she stopped picking on Bobby and kids like him.” I looked over at the TV to find Bobby watching us, though I was pretty sure he couldn’t hear a word we said over the Disney music.

“And none of us thanked you. None of the picked on kids thanked you back then. You risked a lot to make sure Ann Shelton stayed away. So. It’s a long time coming, but thank you.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. I shrugged again. That’s me. Just chock-full of social skills.

“I’ve been reading about you,” Misha said. “According to Reach, ‘Jane Yellowrock,’” she quoted, “‘is arguably the best vampire hunter in the business.’ And that was before the info was updated with all the kills in Natchez last year.”

I had no idea what to say to that, so I said nothing, which was better than opening my mouth and inserting my foot, boot and all. Just when the silence—my silence—became uncomfortable, a knock came at the door. Misha crossed the suite and opened it. A bellman entered, pushing a cart into the room. It was laden with a small cheesecake and a plate of petit fours, a bowl of Chex mix, a plate of chocolates, two juice bottles, a carafe of coffee, a pot of hot water, mugs, clear glass teacups, and various tea bags. It was too much to hope for loose tea, even in a nice joint like this.

Misha tipped the bellman and then concentrated on making up a tray of treats for Bobby and Charly. I watched as she worked, trying to reconcile this self-assured woman with the Misha of memory. She glanced up and said, “Help yourself,” with that new, quick, professional smile, as she carried the juice and plate into the TV area.

I moved to the far side of the fancy tea cart, where my back went to the wall, leaving the entrance, the windows, and Misha all in my visual range. I picked through the tea bags and upgraded my opinion of the tea selection. There was a white peony, a green chai, and a spring oolong, all imported from China. There was also one called East Beauty Blooming Tea—a ball of green tea leaves sewn together by hand with jasmine and chrysanthemum flowers. When dropped in hot water, the tea ball would open, appearing to flower and bloom.