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“Val, listen. I’m going to call the kids. One of them can get the backpack to you.”
“But we won’t be able to hide this situation if we do that,” I say.
“That little girl’s life is more important,” she says, “and the kids are going to be fine. I think they already suspect. Maybe they already know.”
“Okay, I say. Have them call me.”
“Be careful,” she says, “I mean, we’re not together, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”
I’m touched although I know that already. “Thanks, Gwen,” I say, “and for the record, I wish you and I had paid attention to us and not had this empty nest thing. I care about you, too.”
She is silent for a moment. When she speaks, she only says, “I’ll make the call,” and hangs up.
I tap the location into my phone and set it on the passenger seat. I think about all the times I meant to put the backpack in the truck. It’s emergency clothes. We can shift halfway, what most people think a werewolf looks like. We can also do a full shift into the animal. Most shifters have clothes that can withstand a half-shift. There’s no clothing on Earth that can withstand a full shift. Almost everyone keeps a backpack with emergency clothing in case of an unplanned shift. We keep all of ours in a closet, for fuck’s sake, where it doesn’t do any good.
My phone rings. My son. I pick it up and answer. “Vince.”
“Dad, I’m at the house and I grabbed your pack. Do you know where your girlfriend’s daughter is?”
“Exit twenty…” His words finally sink in, and I say, “How did you know?”
“I didn’t,” he says, “but Kiara and I were pretty sure. You and mom have been staying together for us. Something like two or three years now, right?” I’m silent and he says, “Don’t stress. We came to peace with it a long time ago.”
“All right. I just want you to know that—”
“Dad, we’ll talk about it later. Just tell me where to bring the pack.”
“Bring it next door,” I say. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
The drive to Klarice’s house is the longest of my life. I do breathing exercises so my stress doesn’t overwhelm me and cause me to shift on the road. When I arrive, Klarice is at the front door. It’s clear that she’s been crying.
In front of the house is the same obnoxious sports car I saw the night Annie sprained her ankle. In front of the car stand two terrified boys, cowering under my son’s baleful stare. Vince sees me and tosses me the pack. I catch it and open my arms for Klarice, who rushes into them, sobbing.
I stare at the two boys and Vince barks, “Tell him!”
The boys jump and one of them swallows and says, “She—she ran away.”
“Why,” I ask. My voice is calm but I know they hear the anger underneath because they shrink back and a stain appears in the crotch of one of the boys’ pants.
“We—” the boy hesitates.
“We what?” Vince barks again.
He jumps and closes his eyes. “We were going to bang—to have sex with her. She didn’t want to, so she ran away into the woods.”
“Where?” I ask.
“A mile off of the highway on Old Mill Road. We’re sorry! We didn’t mean—”
“Save it,” I say. “You’re eighteen years old, correct?”
They nod.
“And you were trying to have sex with a fourteen-year-old child, correct?”
A stain appears on the first boy’s crotch, and he sobs, “Yes.”
“So that makes you child predators,” I growl.
