Page 53 of Lost Touch

Everything would be okay once we found one.

I had to believe that.

Chapter 16

We Charge More for Those

“Can I use your phone?”

Drew glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, his mouth quirking up in a smile that read more sad than amused. “If I snap, nine-one-one isn’t going to do you much good.”

Nope, it definitely wouldn’t, even if we could’ve gotten a police cruiser out here to the middle of nowhere in less than an hour. I didn’t think the cops would be equipped to handle an alpha werewolf in a frenzy. There were supernatural units, of course. A surprising number of werewolves worked in emergency services—or maybe not so surprising, since they could handle just about anything a criminal could throw at them, and humans liked having them as partners because officer casualties were so much lower in units with shifters attached. I could remember reading about that somewhere, although I couldn’t remember when or why.

But even a random highway patrol officer who happened to be a shifter probably wouldn’t be enough. Drew’s knuckles were white where he gripped the steering wheel hard enough to make it creak, and the tension radiating from his stiff body filled the air, nearly choking me.

“I don’t want to call anyone. I want to look for shamans on the internet. I mean, unless you have someone in mind?”

Drew shook his head. “Go for it. Don’t know how much luck you’ll have. If you don’t find someone, I’ll have to call around and try to get a word of mouth reference.”

And if he knew who to call, he already would have. Right.

I picked up his phone where he’d dropped it in the center console and started searching.

I tried Oregon first, since we’d chosen to head southwest into the corner of Oregon and then down into Nevada. I only found a couple, both way out of the way to the north. And besides, they both looked super shady. One had a photo on his website of himself standing next to a giant rock formation resembling an erect but crooked penis, and the other was wearing a cape.

Hard pass.

Of course, maybe all shamans looked shady.

Hmm. I might have to readjust my expectations.

I entered another search, this time for “shaman warlock for hire Nevada,” and then stared out the window as the very, very slow cell service chewed on my request. Not that there was anything to see. We’d left Boise in the midafternoon, passed briefly through some pretty scenery, and now had landed in the middle of an endless expanse of grassy plains. A few hills lurked in the background now and then. Also, if I’d been a power line and telephone pole aficionado, I had plenty of those to feast my eyes on.

Otherwise, zilch.

The browser finally stopped thinking and spat out a list of results.

I clicked through them extremely slowly, each site taking a minute or two to load. My teeth were grinding together after the first page of results. When I’d clicked on not one but two Elvis-impersonating magic practitioners, I gave the fuck up and tossed the phone back in the center console.

“No luck?” Drew asked. The strain in his voice worried me, though I appreciated the effort.

“Not yet. I’ll get back to it in a bit once we’re closer to a town or something. I think there aren’t many cell towers out here.”

Drew grunted his agreement, and thus ended our scintillating conversation.

Another fifty miles passed in silence; we were getting near the Nevada border, and the sun had almost gone down, highlighting the distant hills and leaving the plain drearier than ever. It mesmerized me, the endless green and gold and brown flowing past, featureless and empty.

Exhaustion caught up to me, and my eyes drifted shut. I tried to force them open again. I shouldn’t fall asleep. Anything could happen.

But I conked out anyway.

I woke with a start, disoriented and groggy despite the immediate burst of anxiety and dread. Night had fallen completely, although a weird glow shone in the rearview mirrors. Reno? Already? And already behind us, meaning we’d crossed into California. The clock on the dashboard read 12:22. Fuck. After midnight. I’d slept the whole evening away, and Drew…

I glanced over at him. There were strung-out junkies with better color in their faces, and his jaw had clamped so tight he wouldn’t have any molars left if he kept it up.

Blood or no blood, he’d need to knot me soon. I didn’t think he’d be able to last much longer without it. Or without something, anyway. And hand jobs and blowjobs hadn’t seemed to cut it before.

“We should stop the next time we see a motel or something,” I ventured. “There should be a zillion of them around here, since it looks like we’ve just left—”

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