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Shit.
Adam had eased the bathroom hall door closed. Whatever condition Lester was in, any Change would make turning doorknobs very difficult. With any luck, that added barrier meant he wouldn't hear--
The boy pounded on the door.
"Mom! You said you were just coming up to check on Dad!"
A snort from inside the bathroom. Then a thump.
The kid pounded again. "Come on, guys. Locked? Really? I've been able to open this since I was six!"
And at eighteen he should damned well know that a locked bedroom door wasn't to keep him out--it was to tell him not to enter. To give his parents privacy.
Another grunt from inside the bathroom. The scrabble of footsteps. Feet? Claws? I couldn't tell. The more this idiot kid yelled, though, the more he attracted whatever beast his father had become. So I opened the door, grabbed him and yanked him inside. I dragged the kid down. At first he struggled, but once he was on the floor with me straddling him, he just lay there, gaping.
I slapped my hand over his mouth.
I glanced over at Adam. He was poised to help, but I waved him back. I was fine. The kid was just lying there. Judging by his build, he wasn't on the football team. From the vacancy of his gaze, not on the chess team either. Or perhaps just in shock.
Over the music, I could hear Lester snuffling in the bathroom hall. He pushed at the door. Just testing it. More snuffling.
The kid started to struggle again. I leaned down.
"If you want out of here alive, you'd better--"
He bit me. As I yanked back, he said, "Do you know who my father is, you thieving bitch?"
I pulled a glove from my pocket and stuffed it into his mouth. "It's what your father is that's the problem," I muttered.
The kid bucked. I slammed him down, again, but he was struggling in earnest now, legs and fists flailing against the floor, grunting against the gag.
Lester growled and pushed at the door.
I locked the kid in a binding spell, then turned to Adam. He was already leaving to find Elena. He looked back. Lester had stopped growling and sounded as if he was just shuffling about, trying to figure a way past the closed door.
"He's not going anywhere," I said. "And neither is this one."
Adam nodded and took off, loping down the hall as silently as he could.
Fingernails scraped the door. Tentative at first. Then harder.
"Come on, Elena," I murmured. "Before he realizes he can break that door down with one--"
Lester hit the door hard. I scrambled off the kid, locking him in a binding spell as I eased toward the bathroom hall door. Lester had resumed his shuffling and snuffling.
"Savannah?" It was Adam on my earpiece.
"He tested the door. I think he's given up but . . . hurry."
"I am. I'm at the trapdoor and--"
Elena's voice sounded in the background.
"Got 'em," Adam said. "Heading your way in--"
The en suite door flung open, knocking me back. Lester stepped out.
It was Lester. Not a wolf. Not a wolfman. Maurice Lester, an overweight, jowly man with dyed black hair, wearing slacks and a dress shirt with the tie loosened and thrown over his shoulder. Only his white shirt wasn't white anymore. It was stained with blood.
