Cold Spell

just saw,” I say. “They look like they’re wearing a human costume, sort of. But she looked… she looked normal.”

“And, just to make sure I’m clear—you think this girl might be the queen of hungry, soulless werewolves, so you decided to chase her down. Do you have a death wish?” Lucas asks, then shakes his head. “Do your parents know you’re doing this?”

“Wow, Lucas,” Ella says, looking up, eyes widening. “High school me would have punched you for saying that. What are you, ninety?”

“Well…” Lucas says, looking down. “I’ve seen what they can do. You’ve seen what they can do.”

“True,” Ella admits, voice wavering, and a new concern grips me—what if they call the police on me? I can’t go home, not now. “But,” Ella continues, “can you imagine someone trying to convince me to stop looking for them?” I’m about to ask why Ella was looking for Fenris when Lucas answers.

“I did try to convince you to stop. In fact, I think we got in a yelling match at the opera hall.”

“Then you know how the conversation with Ginny will go—wait. The opera hall?” She looks down at the collage of Mora’s face, and her jaw drops. “I know her.”

“What?” Lucas asks, like he doesn’t believe it. He leans in and stares at the clippings.

“I know her,” Ella says again, then turns and bolts from the room. It’s only a few moments before she returns, moving so fast she slides into the kitchen. She slams a framed photo down on top of the cookbook.

It’s a magazine page. Ella and Lucas standing side by side—her a few inches taller than him. Then a boy I don’t recognize, wearing eyeliner and theater makeup, with hair so blond it’s nearly white. Beside him—

“That’s her,” Ella says. “Right?”

“Mora,” I say, nodding. “Yes. That’s her.”

Ella taps the face of the theater boy. “And that’s Larson Davies. He was an opera singer we were supporting.”

“Supporting?” I asked.

“I like to take care of people,” Ella said, shrugging. “He was great, going to be huge. And then he disappeared a few winters ago, during an ice storm—with her. I didn’t know her all that well. He ditched the apartment we were paying for, and we never heard from him again. Kind of figured he was a run-of-the-mill asshole, and we just missed it somehow.”

“She took him,” I say, my heart speeding up. “Just like Kai. Kai is a violinist.”

“What is she doing, starting a boy band?” Lucas says.

“I don’t know,” I answer, voice a little shrill. “I just tried to follow the snowstorm, and it led me here. So I think they’re somewhere in Nashville, or close to it, or maybe they’ve just left. I have to find them. I have to find him.”

“Don’t worry,” Lucas says, and he sounds larger than his body. “I can track her. With a face like that, it’ll be easy.”

Ella puts a hand on my shoulder, gentle but strong. “How long has he been gone?”

“A day and a half?”

Ella can’t mask the grim look that flickers over her face.

“What?” I say, looking between them. “Tell me.”

I stare, waiting, needing to know. Lucas squeezes Ella’s hand, and she inhales, as if she’s gathering courage. Finally, she speaks.

“I didn’t know about the werewolves till a few years ago. I was with my best friend walking out of this club, and then… she screamed and everything went dark. No one knew where she went. It was like she just disappeared.”

“And that’s why you were looking for them?” I say softly, and Ella nods.

“Well, I didn’t even know they existed at the time—I was just looking for her. Then I thought it was a serial killer or… something. I don’t know. I changed my major to criminology. Made missing persons my pageant platform. Millie was like a sister to me, and I kept thinking if I did all the right things, she’d somehow come back and be fine. But… nothing worked. I heard about this guy, this guy who could follow any trail. Who could track anything. So I hired him to find Millie. And then I ended up marrying him.” She laughs a little.

“Did Lucas find her?” I ask, looking at him.

“He did,” Ella says. “Or at least, what was left of her.”

CHAPTER NINE

I ask to sleep on Lucas and Ella’s couch; they look at me as if I’ve lost my mind and put me up in a guest room, one with a mattress I sink into and real oil paintings on the walls. It even has its own bathroom, which I’m fairly certain is bigger than my entire bedroom back in Atlanta. I don’t want to fall asleep, to be honest, because I’m afraid I’ll wake up and discover I’m just in the backseat of the station wagon, snowed in at the rest area. The next morning, I make the bed, straighten the pillow, and wipe down the bathroom mirror. No stranger has ever been so nice to me, and I don’t want them to regret it.

“How did you sleep?” Ella asks when I walk downstairs the next morning. She’s sipping coffee and looks astoundingly awake. It makes me forget that I’m not much of a morning person.

“Excellent,” I say. “Better than I have in ages, honestly.”

“You can try a different room tonight, if you want,” she says offhandedly, reaching for the carton of cream. She pours so much into the coffee that it’s a caramel color. “I think the guest room you were in has the best mattress, but from the one on the second floor you can see for miles. Or, well, you’d be able to if it weren’t for the snow and fog and general misery.”

“Okay. I mean… if it’s no trouble. Though I really should head out today,” I say. “Not that I don’t appreciate it—”

“Relax,” Ella says, laughing a little at me. “It’s just a place to sleep.”

“Yeah, but you hardly know me,” I say, shaking my head. I finally sit across from her at the table. “You don’t have to be so nice to me.”

“I’m going for Miss Congeniality,” Ella jokes, but then adds, “Besides, the Fenris attacked you once when you were sleeping in your car. Think I’d let that happen again, when I’ve got a home full of queen-size mattresses?”

I blush a little and mumble thanks as Lucas walks past the doorway. He’s in the adjacent room, walking back and forth in front of the studded leather couches. I lean in to listen close—he’s asking questions, dialing, redialing, asking others. Things like, “My sister is supposed to swing by today—super blonde hair, blue eyes. Have you seen her?” or “My drunk friend forgot where he left my car before the storm. It’s a silver Lexus; is there one in your parking lot?” He looks like he’s itching, a dog locked in a pen.

Ella sighs and explains he’s been like this all morning—there’s too much snow to go out and look for Mora himself. The station wagon has no hope of making it out the drive, and neither do any of Lucas and Ella’s cars— though he tries each and every one. When the pink Hummer (“It was an impulse buy, but now it’s just embarrassing to drive,” according to Ella) stalls out at the bottom of the hill, Lucas gives up.

“I can find her,” he tells me when he emerges from his den of investigation at one in the afternoon. “I can find anyone. She’s playing it right, though—she’s taking the same route back that she took coming down, following her own tracks. It makes it hard to know if she’s still here or already gone. Raccoons do it, too, when a dog is after them—”

“Mora’s acting like a raccoon?” I ask doubtfully.

“Don’t knock nature,” Lucas says. “If there’s one thing it’s good at, it’s surviving. But I’ll find her. I just need to get out of this house….”

Ella looks up from a tablet—apparently, she gets dozens of newspapers delivered daily and reads each and