Page 59 of Wicked Hungry

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“My kind leaves a mark... I can see it on your neck and on your hands.”

“You can see it?”

She laughs. “To my kind, it’s as clear as can be. I don’t think normal eyes could see the marks, but she’s definitely marked you, Stanley.”

“Marked me?”

“Our kind is a very possessive lot. It tells others to keep their hands off.”

“But why would she mark me?”

“We mark our lovers, and we mark our...”

“What? Your what?”

“Our food,” Morgan whispers, her eyes thin slits.

“Your food?”

She shakes her head as we turn back to the others and hands me the book. “I’ve said too much. Watch over my niece, and we’ll try to watch over you as much as we can.”

“Can’t you at least tell us why Enrique is changing into a jaguar and Jonathan into a fox?”

“The pills bring out what’s hidden under your humanity. Those who don’t have anything else would turn into little more than...a zombie.”

“A zombie?”

“Yes,” she says. “A half-dead person, ready to be controlled by the unscrupulous.”

“Like the Seelie and Unseelie?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I very much doubt they would have anything to do with it.”

“There’s so much we don’t understand,” I say.

Blaine frowns. “Some of the answers you seek are in the book. Perhaps Carolina can help you find others. But I must warn you once again: being clanless, as well as clueless, is very dangerous. Are you sure you won’t join us, Stanley? We could watch out for you.”

“And what about Enrique and Jonathan?”

Blaine shakes his head. “Jaguars and foxes have no place among us. The Whelan clan is only for our kind, Stanley, your kind.”

“Then we’ll look out for each other,” I say. “Jonathan and Enrique will watch my back.”

Morgaine sighs. “Blaine is right about like needing like. You can’t change your friends by staying with them. Only with a clan will you ever feel at home. Not to mention the danger to all of you...”

“We’ll take our chances, thanks,” I say once again.

“So be it,” says Blaine. “But look after our daughter.”

We nod.

Blaine hands us a small, heavy book. It looks older than my grandfather. The cover is dark, inlaid with thick gold letters. I see sigils on the cover and on the spine of the book. But at least they aren’t silver. Jonathan takes the book and opens it. “Wow,” he says. “Is this what Frumberg took?”

Morgaine shook her head. “He’s no shapeshifter. We lent him another tome, for those who would do magic and protect themselves from your kind. He fears shapeshifters above all. Be careful with him—I’m afraid he could do something desperate.”

“Like what?” I ask.