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I smiled sadly. I remembered Dr. Shumacher’s words, that most women lycanthropes simpl
y might never realize if they got pregnant. Maybe Meg just didn’t know.
“You’re wrong. We can get pregnant. The pregnancy doesn’t survive shape-shifting. You might never even know it.”
She gaped at me, astonished, like I’d slapped her. How many woozy, crampy mornings was she looking back on? How many times had she just written it off to an odd cycle? I didn’t want to know.
“Meg, you’re ignorant, you’re a blockhead, and me waltzing in here and taking over has got nothing to do with me being famous and everything to do with you being completely useless. You and Carl both.” I managed to say that whole thing without raising my voice.
Snarling, she resumed her retreat.
Only after we heard her car door slam, the engine start, and the tires peel out of the parking lot, did Ben blow out a breath and lower his gun. I sat down right there on the sidewalk because my legs had turned to goo. Sheer willpower had been keeping me on my feet, but blood loss and nerves finally got the better of me.
Ben knelt and put his hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”
I leaned into him. “That thing I said, about picking up the pieces and that’s why we’re together—that’s not just it. I mean, there’s more than that, right?”
“We should have this conversation later,” he said, glancing at my sister, who was standing over us, looking down with bugged-out eyes.
“What was that all about?” Cheryl said, even more hysterically, though it didn’t seem possible.
“I said it was a long story,” I sighed as Ben hauled me to my feet.
“No, not the mess. Not just the mess. I mean about the pregnant part.”
I figured Mom had told her, but apparently not. I couldn’t even look at her. Ben pulled me close and put a kiss on my hair, over my ear.
“Are you pregnant?” she said.
I smiled thinly. “Not anymore.”
“Oh, geez. I’m sorry.” She said it to both of us, and she looked sad.
I took her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back, and our argument disappeared. “Cheryl, there’s kind of a war going on. I need you to go home, stay inside. Keep everyone inside. Don’t let anyone in unless you know them really well. If you see anyone outside the house, if you see anything odd—if anything even feels odd—call 911 and tell them you have an intruder in the house. Don’t even hesitate.”
“What—”
I held up my hand to stop her. She was going to ask, again, what was going on. “That woman and some other people would happily kill me if they got the chance. We’re not going to let that happen.”
“Kitty—”
“Where’s Dad? Is he at the house?”
“No, he’s staying with us while Mom’s in the hospital.”
“Good. It’s going to be okay. I’ll call you later. I’ll see Mom as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” she said, and sounded young. Then she hugged me, bloodstains and all. “Be careful.”
“You, too.”
We watched her return to her car and drive away. Ben kept hold of the gun the whole time, in case something else lurked in the shadows. Without a word, we made it inside. I made it into the shower. My upper chest had a puckered spot of skin where the bullet hole had been. That was it. I kept picking at it; it was healing, almost smoothing out under my touch.
I didn’t want to leave the stream of water. I didn’t want to go back to the war. But I did.
I asked Ben, who was making food, “Any word?”
“Nope.”
