to see creative possibilities. She took in the elongated lines of the shifter’s spine and skull. The negative space between her hunched shoulders and belly. The distance between her dark eyes. The curl at the sides of her nostrils. Thin lips. Chandler had no trouble envisioning the feminine skeleton beneath the masculine shape of The Thinker. And she took those lines and shapes and shifted them into something very different, and very real.
“I know what she is,” Chandler whispered.
“I smell rodent,” Gar said.
“You’re close. She’s a hedge-hare. I’m certain of it.” Hedge-hares were solitary, shapeshifting witches, highly skilled and often tricksters with a folklore legacy that encompassed cultures around the world. Four or maybe five years ago, Athena had invited one to join the coven. But the older teenage girl had turned her down flat, claiming she preferred to remain independent.
Peregrine went up on his tiptoes, staring toward the shifter. “Like a bunny?”
“Definitely not.” Chandler rested her hand heavily on his shoulder, easing him back onto the flats of his feet. “Come on, let’s go talk to her. But no running.”
Devlin lowered his voice. “What was the name of that hedge-hare Athena knew? Isobel something or other?”
Chandler nodded. “Isobel Lapin. I’m not sure this is her, though.”
“How could Lionel have ever mistaken a rabbit for a loup-garou?” Devlin said. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Gar chuckled. “That would be one vicious-looking rabbit.”
“Either way, we need to talk to her.” Chandler took a firm grip on Peregrine’s hand and led the way down the street. A couple of tourists were snapping photos while their friends lined up next to The Thinker, posing like her with their fists under their chins.
Chandler hung back a few steps, waiting. Finally, the tourists shoved cash into the shifter’s donation box and moved on.
She stepped up close to the shifter and whispered, “I’m Chandler Parrish. From the Northern Circle. Are you Isobel?”
The shifter remained frozen, like a snowshoe hare under the eye of a soaring hawk.
“I believe you knew my sister, Athena,” Devlin added.
The shifter still didn’t move, but a vibration of coiled energy built in the air around her as if she were readying to bolt.
“Please. We just want to ask a couple of questions.” Chandler kept her tone friendly. Whether The Thinker was guilty of careless shifting or not, it seemed likely that Lionel had witnessed it. If he hadn’t, then how else would he have known she was a shifter of any sort? That wasn’t something a person without magic could detect.
Peregrine poked Chandler in the ribs, yanking her attention away from The Thinker. “Mom, look!”
She glanced in the direction he was pointing. Up the street, a familiar long-legged silhouette emerged from under the shade of the coffee stand’s striped awning. Lionel.
As he waved and jogged toward them, excitement shivered inside Chandler, like it had when she’d seen him in her vision. She hadn’t stopped to think about that detail. It seemed so unimportant compared to battling dragons and Peregrine’s conception. But here it was again, that same quiver in her heart and wild twirl spinning low in her body. It made no sense for her to be even slightly drawn to him. He was a threat to the coven. But no one had ever said attraction belonged in the same box with rational behavior. Her life certainly was a good example of that.
Gar grumbled under his breath, “Maybe we can get some answers now.”
Chandler nodded. “I’m with you there.”
When Lionel reached them, his smile widened even further. “I—um, see you’ve decided I’m not totally crazy?”
“Actually, we’re more convinced you were wrong,” Devlin said.
Chandler tilted her head at the shifter, still maintaining her The Thinker pose. “Is this the person you saw change into a wolfish something?” Whether the hedge-hare was Isobel or not, she was a witch, so it didn’t matter if she overheard. Insinuating that she’d turned into a carnivore might piss her off enough to make her speak up about what happened.
“I’m sure of it.” Lionel turned away, gesturing at an alleyway between city hall and the building just north of it. “It happened over there. One minute there was The Thinker, then—” He abruptly stopped talking. He straightened his glasses and glanced back at The Thinker, then at the alley again as if confused. “What the hell?”
“What’s wrong?” Chandler followed his line of sight. Two white-haired old ladies toddled out from the darkness of the alleyway, arm in arm.
Lionel’s voice turned firm. “Don’t you see it? The loup-garou. It’s watching us. It’s not The Thinker.”
Chandler looked again. No wolves. No dogs. Nothing except for old ladies.
“I don’t see it,” Gar snarled.
“It’s leaving!” Lionel took off, racing toward the alleyway.
Gar sprinted after him, zigzagging between the ladies and leaping over a bicycle rack. Chandler started to follow, but Devlin caught her sleeve. “Stay here with Peregrine. I’ll see what’s going on.”
The authority in his voice made her blood boil, but the mama dragon inside her agreed with him. It was safer to stay put and not get Peregrine involved.
She reached for Peregrine’s hand—
He wasn’t there.
She caught a glimpse of him, a second behind Gar and Lionel, moving impossibly fast and vanishing into the alleyway.
“Shit.” Chandler bolted after him with Devlin beside her. The old ladies scurried out of the way as they flew past them. Hopefully, Lionel had seen a shadow. Something wolf-shaped. Maybe a hunched person. An optical illusion, like how she’d mistaken Devlin’s dog with a scarecrow for a redcap and its victim.
The alley was dark, even darker than Chandler had expected. There was nothing in it. Nothing at all. Not Lionel. Not Gar. Not Peregrine! Not a single person.
She reached the other end of the alley, where it opened into a small park. Her pulse hammered in her ears as she scanned the walkways and between the maple trees. Where were they? They couldn’t have gotten far.
She spotted Peregrine beyond the maples, near where a line of parked cars edged the greenspace. Gar had a grip on the back of Peregrine’s hoodie. Lionel stood next to them, hand shading his eyes as he looked up the street and between the cars. But there were no people gawking or pointing at anything. No one screaming about a wolf. No shrieks of terror. Nothing to indicate that something strange had run through the park ahead of them. As a matter of fact, only a few yards from them a man was calmly feeding a parking meter. A woman did eye Lionel suspiciously for a second as she pushed a baby stroller past him.
Devlin let out a sigh of relief. “Looks like another false alarm.”
“Thankfully,” Chandler
