A Wolf After My Own Heart MaryJanice Davidson (children's ebooks online .txt) 📖

“Why else would I be here? There’s simply no other explanation for this conversation. So yes, obviously, verrrrrrry interested. Does all the crash debris come with it, or will you be charging extra for that?”

“I don’t know.” Wendy felt desperate but hoped it didn’t show. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to get rid of it. Unless you want it. In which case I’ll throw it in for free.”

“Good to know. I’ll tell my client. Pilot, I mean. My pilot-client. My client who happens to be a pilot.”

“You’re a Realtor?”

“Number one in Fargo.”

“But this isn’t Fargo. It’s not even North Dakota.”

“That’s why I moved. There were no real estate challenges left for me in Fargo. Or North Dakota.” She spread her hands. “So. Here I am. Ta-dah!”

“Okay.” Wendy couldn’t tell if she was overtired (sleep had been in short supply since the crash) or if the woman was wacko. And there was always the chance that both things were true. “D’you have a card?”

“I threw them all down the garbage disposal.”

Don’t ask. Just don’t. “Why?”

“I was having a career crisis.”

Toldja not to ask. “So you’re not a Realtor anymore?”

“Well, the crisis ended. So, yes, I’m still a Realtor. Why else would I be standing in a muddy field by myself? I mean, with a client?”

“Beats me. So…I guess I’ll leave you to it? Are you sure your pilot’s coming back?”

“He has to, I stole the keys to his airplane.”

Sure. Totally normal. People do that every day. Yep. “Oh. Well, if you have any questions, I’ll be just down the road in the farmhouse next to the big willow.”

“Thanks!”

“And you’re welcome to bring any other buyers out here, too.”

“Thanks!”

“Okay, well. Bye.”

Wendy went back the same way she came and couldn’t shake the idea that there was more going on than she knew. Not just because of the vague-yet-specific weirdo; she felt watched. Had felt like that all week, to tell the truth, and was it any wonder? Part of her wanted to go back and talk to blondie some more, but there was a more urgent voice in the bottom of her brain that was telling her to get gone in a hurry. One she obeyed. And the closer to the house she got, the fainter that warning voice got. Half an hour later, when she ventured a look outside, the plane was gone.

Chapter 31

“I know I was there and saw the whole thing, but will you please tell the tale of Magnus Berne’s amoebic dysentery again?”

“We’re never speaking of it again,” Berne commanded. “Couldna think of something less graphic, lass?”

“That’s not what you brought me along for. You brought me along to be a terrible lookout. Which I nailed, FYI.”

The crash site was five minutes behind them; once the farmer had left, Oz and Berne wasted no time shifting back and taking off.

“And before I forget, here.” Oz stuck his hand out.

“What?”

“It’s my ‘other right’ forepaw.” He wiggled his wrist back and forth. “Good as new. But you don’t have to look for excuses to hold my hand. You can hold it whenever you want.”

“Sure, Oz. Because that was at the forefront of my mind all this time. Not the crash or running interference with a random farmer or Sally or her dad who’s maybe not dead…it was all about your other right.”

“As long as we’re clear.”

“I have to hand it to you, lass, y’kept your cool.”

“Nonsensical babbling is an underrated camouflage technique.”

“Ha! Well put.”

“Not just that,” Berne insisted. “When you got a look at my other self. Weren’t you surprised at all?”

“Nope. Don’t even try,” Oz advised. “She doesn’t surprise. She lives in a constant zone of not-surprised. And if she ever is surprised, she’d die before showing it. I honestly believe that. She. Would. Die.”

“Jesus, Oz. Dial it back.”

Berne let out a snort. “Is that how it is, Lila? Or was it something else? Oz here didn’t warn you ahead of time?”

“Berne.” It was so rare to hear Oz use such a sharp tone, she almost did a double-take. “I’m not an outer. Your other self is your own business.”

Berne seemed a little taken aback, too. It didn’t help that they were all using raised voices; the Cessna’s engine, while not deafening, necessitated speaking louder than normal. “All right, lad, I meant no offense. I was just wonderin’.”

So is it a personal choice kind of thing? Who a Shifter tells about their true nature is generally frowned upon but ultimately up to the individual? Note to self: “Outing” is a major faux pas.

Regardless, time to straighten Berne out. “You’re the one who told me.”

“Wi’ respect, I did no such thing.”

“Your last name is Berne, for God’s sake. At some level, I’ve gotta assume your entire family wants people to know.”

For that she got a dry chuckle. “Ach, no. I’m the last Berne.”

“Oh.” Poachers? Or something more mundane? Because if it was poachers, maybe look into changing your name. If it’s not too late. Sounds like it might be too late. “Sorry. I’m the last Kai, if it’s any consolation.”

“Now why should that console me?”

Oh, I dunno…because my kind outnumbers yours thousands to one? More?

“Doesn’t console me, either,” Oz added. “I’m sorry. It sucks to be the last. For anyone, I think.”

“Careful, you’re showing depth,” she teased.

“Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

“Are you sure you didn’t know about Shifters until this week, lass? Because you’re taking insane risks with your own safety.”

“Why? Are you a shitty pilot?”

“I’m an incredible pilot. But weren’t you wurred? Even a bit?”

“Oh, please. Nothing to be wurred about. You’ve all had ample opps to devour me. Besides, you took precautions.” Berne had politely asked that she keep her phone in her purse, and her purse in the plane, which she respected, and not just because he’d been polite about it. “You didn’t have to worry about my purse, though—I left my .380 at home.”

“You didn’t bring a gun? I couldn’t tell, but I thought you…”

Excellent. Lila, two nights ago,