The Turning Season by Shinn Sharon

Author:Shinn, Sharon [Shinn, Sharon]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780425261699
Publisher: Ace Hardcover
Published: 2014-11-04T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

As far as I can tell over the next few days, there’s no fallout from our brush with the Foucaults. Probably because none of the people involved mention it to anyone else. Obviously Bobby and Terry have no incentive to complain about us to Sheriff Wilkerson, and I’m kind of on board with Celeste’s reasons for not talking to the law. Ryan absolutely refuses to go to an urgent care center, so once we’re back at Celeste’s, I bandage his hand as best I can with the supplies Celeste has in her medicine cabinet. The wound looks superficial, but all sorts of possibilities for infection present themselves. Ryan promises he’ll seek professional help if there’s swelling, heat, or pain, and he also promises to come out to my place early next week so I can change the dressing.

“And I can pick up more of the serum,” he adds. “If you’ll have time to mix some up by then.”

“I’ll make it a priority.”

I don’t know how he’ll explain the bullet buried in the dash when he takes the car in for repair. I figure that’s not my problem.

I also figure it’s not my story. So when Joe calls me on Thursday and asks, “How was your week?” I say, “Oh, pretty quiet.” I probably should feel bad about the lie, but as I’ve been lying since I met him, it hardly registers.

“I’m hoping there’s going to be time to see you this week,” he says. “I’m coaching Friday night, and Saturday I agreed to take a shift at Arabesque. I figure I have to work there sometimes or they’ll quit asking.”

“Makes sense.”

“But I wondered if you were free Sunday? My buddy Mark wants to come and look over the other puppies, if that’s okay, but I don’t think he’d stay long.” There’s a beat. “I could hang out for a while, though, if you wanted me to,” he adds.

I hesitate for a moment because I’m starting to get nervous. By Saturday, it will be two weeks since I last shifted, and lately that’s been my limit. But the setting seems ideal. Even if I start getting warning signs that I’m about to transform, I’ll already be at my place and Joe’s already seen me come down with “migraines.” It shouldn’t be too hard to convince him to go.

“That sounds great,” I say. “See you then.”

On Sunday, Joe arrives at about three in the afternoon, his truck closely followed by a gold van. Inside the second vehicle I can spot an adult who looks to be in his forties and enough kids that I keep losing track. Eventually, they’ve all piled out and I do a quick head count—three girls and two boys ranging in ages from about seventeen to ten. The dad’s got salt-and-pepper hair, a thick mustache, and a weathered face that I instantly like. The kids all have that lean look of teen athletes and the restlessness of people who have been cooped up in a small space for far too long.

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