Page 157 of Such Sharp Teeth

“It’s fucking magic,” I say. “Think I’m finally coming around on the supernatural.”

“Wait. What happened with Ian? Is he okay?”

“That’s what I need to find out. I’m going to change and go over to his place. I’d call him but I’m pretty sure I left my phone in his car.”

“What do you mean, need to find out? You don’t remember?”

I give her the short answer. “It’s complicated.”

“Rory.”

“You want anything while I’m out? Need anything? Food? Supplies? Someone’s house blown down?”

“Aurora. I’d go with you, but . . .”

“It’s okay, Scarlett. I’m fine. I’m tough, remember?” I peek at Lenny. “She needs you more than I do. But not by that wide a margin.”

“Good luck.”

I run upstairs and change into jeans and a sweater. I should probably shower but I don’t have time.

What if he got hurt last night? What if Mia did damage?

I play back the series of events. I was with him. I transformed. He saw me. Mia showed up. I remember everything, but it all happened so fast. And I keep coming back to that moment when he saw me transform. When he first saw me in my second skin.

He knows now.

He knows.

I get to his place, and he isn’t there. No car. Lights off. Door locked. I knock. No answer. I listen, press my ear to the door. I peer in the window. There’s nothing. I would be able to sense if he was in there. I’d be able to catch his scent.

The panic sets in.

I drive through town, looking for him. Past his parents’ house. Past Ash’s. The grocery store. The liquor store. The hospital parking lot. The bus station. 7-Eleven.

He’s nowhere.

The panic shifts into full-on crisis.

I drive around for hours, until the sun sets, and I realize there’s nothing more I can do but retreat home with my tail between my legs.

Any hope of quietly slipping away for a private meltdown is immediately vanquished when I step inside. I find a full house. Scarlett and Matty and Lenny and Joann and Mom and Guy. Guy made seafood paella and insists I join them for dinner.

We eat in the dining room. Matty holds Lenny and the way he looks at her is art.

I feed Reaper a shrimp under the table. I much prefer him as an ally.

Mom and Joann go back and forth trading stories while they plow through a bottle of red wine. They engage in a playful debate about whom the baby resembles more, Matty or Scarlett. They attribute specific features. The nose, the ears, the lips.

“I, personally, think she looks like me,” I say.

Scarlett picks at her food. She excuses herself halfway through dinner and doesn’t come back. I find her dozing on the couch. I sit beside her.

“I’m so proud of you,” I whisper in her hair.

She opens an eye.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”