Page 38 of Such Sharp Teeth

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An hour later, I’m scrutinizing myself in the full-length mirror in Scarlett’s bathroom. My palms are sweating. It’s not just the wolf haunting the fringe of my reflection, the wolf that I see every time I look in the mirror now, that I know isn’t really there behind me.

It’s that I’m nervous.

I’m actually fucking nervous!

Scarlett ended up lending me clothes. A pair of high-waisted black jeans and a lacy black blouse with ruffles and billowy sleeves. I protested the top as too nineteenth-century widow but was overruled.

“I can’t wear my own clothes anymore,” Scarlett lamented. “You have to wear them for me.”

I put on some mascara and tinted lip balm. I brush my eyebrows out. I realize my neck looks naked and go to my room to find an appropriate necklace. I select a silver choker.

I hear a faint sizzling noise as I attempt to clasp the chain around my neck.

Then I smell it. Smells like woodshop. Like . . .

I gasp. The necklace falls from my hands as I hurry into my bathroom. I close the door behind me and lock it. I hesitate before looking into the mirror.

There’s a slim dark line around my neck, like someone just tried to choke me with piano wire. It’s still sizzling.

I reach up and carefully run my index finger across the line. I watch myself wince.

I button the blouse all the way, but the collar is too low. I try to cover it up with my hair.

A shadow creeps into my reflection, and I look away.

I lift up the blouse and check the status of my side. Lights off, the remaining marks won’t be noticeable. But my neck?

How can I hide my neck?

Also, what the fuck?

I’m silver on the inside, so why did I have this reaction to silver against my skin?

None of those fantasy nerds covered this on the forums.

I hear knocking, Reaper barking.

Shit shit shit shit.

“Ian Pedretti,” I hear Scarlett say. “How are you?”

I open the bathroom door and dart into my room to grab my bag. I briefly consider a scarf.

“I’m good. How are you? Nice to see you,” Ian says.

Where are all my goddamn scarves?

“You sure you want to do this?” Scarlett asks, raising her voice to make sure I can hear it. “You know, I’m currently unattached.”

Forget it.

“Hey,” I say, hurrying down the stairs. “Hey.”

Ian kneels in the foyer petting Reaper, who looks about the happiest I’ve ever seen him. Tongue out, tail wagging.

“Hi,” Ian says.