But she really did sound wounded. “I do not—” I began.
“You were happy to ditch me last week,” she countered.
“If you’re going to cost me a hundred bucks a week—”
“Hey,” she said. “I’m no bloodsucker. I still gots half that.”
“Cinnamon,” I said. “Go home. Stay safe until the full moon is—”
Then my blood ran cold.
“Cinnamon, aren’t you about to change?” My eyes narrowed. She’d actually grown whiskers, huge catlike whiskers. I hadn’t seen them before. “You are, aren’t you?”
“MaaaayBE,” she said petulantly. “Tomorrow night, day afta. I won’t lie to ya—I gotta be back to the ‘house by nightfall ‘morrow to make lockdown.”
“They lock you up?” I said. “That’s horrible—”
“It’s a service, not a sentence,” she said. “This ain’t the country. In the city if you can’t control your beast, you die. At the ‘house, they cages it, calms it down. You can even go on hunts, supervised like, if they gots a strong alpha on deck.”
I just stared at her. It was such a different world.
“So anyway… I tolds ‘em you were’s’posed to take me today,” she grinned, leaning back over the seat a little more to look me in the eye. “You gonna rat me again, you big were-fink?”
“No,” I said, rubbing my brow. “Actually, wasn’t I supposed to take you today?”
“Next Friday,” she said. “But they don’ts needs to know.”
“No, the last thing I want is to get you in trouble,” I said. “But I don’ts supposes—I don’t suppose there’s any chance of you going back for your own safety?”
“With like twenty hours freedom?” she said, rolling her eyes. “You just wants me gone.”
“No,” I snapped, “But neither do I want you shot.”
“But I’m bulletproof,” she countered.
“And I’m busy,” I replied. “I’ve got to get ready to do Wulfs tattoo—”
“I wants to see that,” she said, turning round in the seat to face me over her folded arms. “I bets you’re a hell of a lot nicer on your canvases than the fag. When are you gonna do it?”
“Tomorrow, I hope,” I said.
“You gots a hope?” she replied. “Why you gots a hope and not a time?”
“I can’t find him,” I said. “Spleen… Spleen is dead, Cinnamon.”
“The little weasel?” she said. “No! Was it Trans—”
“He was mauled,” I said. “Like by an animal.”
Cinnamon sat there frozen. “It wasn’t me! I liked the weasel!”
“I didn’t think it was you,” I responded. “I think Philip suspects Wulf.”
“Do you?” she said, looking at me coolly. “Just because he’s a were?”
I suddenly realized that I had just shifted in the conversation— from her ‘in’ group to her ‘out’ group. “No,” I said, disgusted. “He had means and opportunity, but where’s the motive? Spleen was his contact. And I got him on the phone, so obviously he hasn’t already turned.”
“Okay then,” she said, still wary. “So what’s the holdup?”
“He won’t return my calls,” I said. “He’s chickened out, says he wants to ‘protect’ me.”
“Maybe he is,” she said. “Maybe he did gut Spleen and wants to keep you out of it—”
“Or maybe he’s just a pussy,” I said, and her eyebrows shot up. “I get this all the time from people who book an appointment with me. ‘I’ve decided it’s too dangerous.’ Or, ‘It’s too expensive.’ Or, ‘I remembered an appointment.’ There’s a thousand excuses and only one translation: He may have gotten cold feet. He’s scared to sit in my chair.”
“Ya thinks?” she said, grinning.
“Either that or he thinks he’ll eat me alive,” I replied. “Regardless, he called from a payphone and won’t pick up when I call back. And my so-called boooyfriend was no help either—Wulf bailed out of his lair. Neither of us can find him. If he doesn’t call me—I’m shit out of luck.”
Cinnamon suddenly yawned and stretched, then sat sideways in her seat so her head rested on the glass, feet kicking out over the end of the double bench. She inspected her claws lazily, and said: “If only you knew someone who was, like, the bestest at tracking people.”
For one brief moment I wondered about the wisdom of involving a minor in this horrible mess—and then I told myself: hey, At least she’s bulletproof.
“So, Cinnamon,” I said, leaning back so my head mirrored hers. “Wanna go for a ride?”
34. LURE OF THE WULF
“This is a bad fucking idea,” I said, having severe second thoughts as I pulled at the grimy door to the stairwell leading to the lower levels. “Why’d I let you talk me into this?”
“Don’t lie, you were gonna ask,” Cinnamon countered. “I just