Page 44 of For Dear Life

He stiffens. “That’s a bad idea. Rowan won’t agree.”

I tap the screen.

I need you

The message wings its way to Rowan, and I pause. Hmm. I alarmed Rowan the last time I used those words. He requested that I’m more specific in the future.

Dutifully, I add and send:

A shifter I met might be dead

There. Clearer information. Less for Rowan to panic about.

My phone immediately rings, and I answer.

“What the fuck, Violet?”

Yet still Rowan panics. Will Leif? I pivot to look up at him. “I forgot to mention—Oz is the Ursa shifter I almost killed.” He looks at me as if I’ve slapped him, and I grin. “I think we’re onto something.”

15

VIOLET

A circular wooden bench surrounds a solitary maple tree, one of several saplings at intervals along the sidewalk outside the hospital. I sit with Leif on the edge, as I run through events in my head, making connections, looking for gaps.

The skies clouded since I stood outside to watch the ambulance leave with Oz, adding an apt chill to the air. Holly grumbled the other day about how the weather isn’t very spring-like recently. Another odd human trait—the need to discuss local meteorological conditions.

In the time we remained in the arcade, Leif indulged in his love of clawed machines—which aren’t as fascinating or sinister as I imagined—while I snooped around for hints of magic. Although hampered by the array of scents in the bowling alley and attached café, I’m confident there’s no sign of magic use. This included a subtle scout around the area Marci occupied. Nothing. If somebody within the arcade poisoned the shifter, he or she either left or was one amongst a large number playing on the machines at the time I entered.

I deduce that the effect on Oz resulted from his broken link to Maxwell. If witches intend to retrieve or kill him before anybody discover what he is, risking that discovery by creating something public makes no sense.

Unless they intended him to die in my vicinity?

Always a possibility.

I conducted a calmer phone conversation with Rowan that became less calm when I told him about Rory’s missing body. At least Leif dropped into the silence that he favors when I communicated the unpleasant revelations to him.

Holly was still at the bowling alley when I left for the hospital with Leif. Oddly, many humans and witches returned to their evening frivolity after the interruption. Perhaps if Oz had actually died they might’ve paused for thought?

“Witches are slow,” I grumble.

“Rowan doesn’t have a car and can’t walk as fast as me or you, Violet,” Leif reminds me.

“We honestly need to improve our resources should our investigations become a regular task,” I comment.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you don’t think these murders are the only thing that will ever need solving, do you, Leif?” I shake my head and he scowls at my despairing look. “You don’t need to stay involved.”

“As if,” he mutters.

“Honestly, I never realized the world held such mystery and challenge, otherwise I might’ve asked to come to Thornwood.” I can’t deny the small thrill that zings through each time I discover an answer or solve a problem. Who knew this activity could enliven me? Be fun.

A long bus with a huge female face advertising lipstick plastered to the side pulls up to the nearby stop, and I stand expectantly as the doors hiss open.

Rowan leaps down the steps and marches over, and I wait for an awkward hug, but Rowan doesn’t appear to be in a hugging mood. This face and aura generally mean he’s irritated with me.

“Why weren’t you more specific?” he demands. “How ‘almost dead’ is the shifter? Who is the shifter?”

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