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My whole head got stuffy with the threat of tears, and I snuffled as I squished her back just as hard. “You’re welcome. How’s Billy?”

“Fine. He was antsy last night, but that’s no surprise. We spent a lot of time trying not to think about what might have happened.”

Which almost certainly meant they’d talked about nothing else once the kids were put to bed, and that they’d said, again and again, “But it turned out okay,” and probably held on to each other harder than usual. I gave Melinda another tight hug and whispered the fortunately-true platitude myself: “It turned out okay.”

Mel nodded and finally let me go, backing farther into the house. Her eyes were bright, cheeks flushed, but high emotion looked good on her. Most things did, honestly: Melinda Holliday was most of a foot shorter than me, had enviable hourglass curves that even a bulky terry-cloth robe couldn’t hide, and her vivid Hispanic coloring made her film-star radiant even in predawn light after what had probably been a very long night. I was pretty happy with my tall build, but if I ever needed to trade in for another shape entirely, I wanted to look like Melinda.

“How about you? Are you okay?” She invited me in and I got rid of my clompy boots right inside the door, hoping not to wake any of the kids. Melinda gave an approving nod that made me feel warm and fuzzy inside, and I murmured, “I’m doing okay, all things considered. It’s been a long day.”

Melinda arched a concerned eyebrow. “It’s six-thirty in the morning. It’s a new day.”

“I might have forgotten to get any sleep.”

“Oh, Joanne.” Melinda pointed toward the kitchen. “Billy’s in there with Caroline and a pot of coffee.”

“You are an angel among women.” I followed Mel down the hall into a kitchen that still looked brand-new, seven months after being rebuilt. There were no scars on the walls from the monster that had nearly broken their house apart, and the whole room—the whole house, really—had a warm and comforting ambience. I had no earthly use for a sprawling suburban home, but I never once visited the Hollidays without wishing I lived in a place like theirs.

Melinda picked up the coffeepot and waved it in my direction, her eyebrows elevated. I desperately wanted a cup, but I shook my head as I sat down at the kitchen table across from Billy and Caroline. The latter was happily sucking down a bottle of milk, big brown eyes focused on her daddy, and Billy gave me a quick smile before returning his own besotted gaze to the baby girl. Melinda put the coffeepot down and her hands on her hips. “Lurking in the driveway at six in the morning and now refusing coffee. Did your date with Michael go that badly?”

Although I knew Morrison’s given name was Michael— James Michael, in fact; I’d seen it on his driver’s license—I’d never gotten used to the fact that Melinda actually called him by it. At work he was Morrison, Captain, Sir or Boss, and it continued to seem peculiar that someone would call him by any other appellation. I inhaled, searching for an appropriatelycheeky response, but what came out was an all-too-honest, “You have no idea.”

“Oh dear.” Melinda sat down and Billy went so far as to drag his attention from Caroline to me.

I sat there for a moment, hands folded on the scarred table surface—five kids left a lot of stories on the battered wood— and finally, inanely, said, “Actually the date part wasn’t so bad. Even after the murder.”

My hosts made spluttering noises as I described the evening, up to and including Coyote’s snit fit, before pulling my glasses off to clean them—I’d finally taken my contacts out when I woke up—as I transferred a helpless look to Melinda. “So I spent the last few hours reading about shamanic shapeshifting on the Net and in some of my books and then I came here. I was hoping I could use your sanctuary to give this a try under controlled circumstances. It’s the only way I can think to have some idea of how to stop it accidentally happening again.”

Billy cast his gaze skyward. “Sure, she gets suspended from duty and gets to spend the morning learning to shapeshift while I have to go to work and miss all the fun. Where’s the justice in that?”

I grinned. “You sound like Gary. He’s going to pop a vein when he gets back from California. I was under strict instructions to not do anything exciting without him.”

“I’m calling him,” Billy threatened.

“And interrupting his weekend with beer and the boys? I don’t think so. I’ll try to do anything interesting in the next hour, before you have to leave, okay?” I got up, and Melinda nodded me toward the kitchen door, stopping to kiss Billy on her way by.

His attempt at pique failed, and he smiled at his wife. “You two be careful.”

“We will be. Come on, Joanne. Come downstairs.”

Six monthsearlier I hadn’t even known Melinda Holliday had a sanctuary in the daylight basement of their rambling home. I’d barely even known that Melinda, like Billy, had long-established ties to the world of weird which I’d only recently entered. Even now I still wasn’t entirely certain what Melindawas, in Magic Seattle terms. An adept of some kind, and not a shaman like myself or a medium like Billy, but she wouldn’t even go so far as to call herself a witch. She’d said she was just a wise woman, when I’d asked her about it, and while I couldn’t argue, I also had the feeling that title barely scratched the surface.

Her sanctuary was a simple room filled with candles and pillows, its concrete floor and spackled ceiling painted with matching power circles. Magic brought to life within those circles was fully contained, as safe as it could be, and with Coyote’s tetchy warning still echoing in my mind, I was all for playing safely.

I prodded the edge of the circle, feeling no residual power. Melinda hadn’t called up magic any time recently. I caught her watching me with an expression of amusement and folded my hands back, embarrassed. “Sorry. I should’ve asked. May I enter?”

Her eyebrows elevated. “Of course, but what do you want from me here, Joanne?”

I stepped inside the power circle, pausing to nod in each of the cardinal directions before answering. “I know I’ve awakened it before, but I’d like you to do it this time, with a keep-things-in intent. If I lose my mind to a coyote shape I’d rather not be able to escape and chew anybody up.”

“Do you think that’s likely?”

“I sure as hell hope not.” I sat in the middle of the circle, cross-legged, and Melinda made a pile of cushions to settle down on, just close enough that she could reach forward and touch thepainted lines on the floor. At the last moment, I triggered the Sight, curious to see what her active magic looked like.

Buttercup-yellow flickered around her, a sunshine color that went hand in hand with her personal warmth. The painted circle came alight, flickering up to meet its match on the ceiling. I watched the power dance, as mesmerized by it as I would be by any fire. Calm seeped around me, a gentle cushion protecting me from the world. I wanted to bask in it, to catch up on the sleep I’d missed in this quiet reserved space.

That, however, wasn’t in the cards, though I indulged for a few minutes, absorbing some of the tranquility. Relaxed and content seemed like a good way to start a shapeshifting attempt.

I’d felt nothing untoward when the dancers had triggered my transformation, and Coyote had said the process shouldn’t hurt. That was well and good, but I needed to be aware in a way that I clearly hadn’t been the night before, and so from a pleasant centered place I murmured, “Rattler, can you guide me?”