“Why?” Bethany’s hands tightened almost imperceptibly over the steering wheel. In the rearview mirror, I could see Skylar shrug in response.

“I just kind of feel like you should turn right here.”

Bethany shot dagger eyes at her in the mirror. “Because you’re psychic.”

“Just a little.”

To everyone’s surprise—probably even her own—Bethany did turn right, but she made up for it by rolling her eyes so hard that I had doubts about whether or not she could still make out oncoming traffic. Cast in the role of mediator between two extremes, I tried rephrasing Bethany’s “no offense” statement in a way that was actually less offensive.

“Skylar, I get that maybe you have … really good intuition about people sometimes, but you know there’s no such thing as actual psychics, right?”

That was what had made Eigelmeier’s discovery of the chupacabra such an astonishing scientific find. Even with the preternatural, psychic phenomena was outside the norm. With humans, it was unheard of.

Then again, so was I.

Skylar, sensing my weakness, pressed the point. “Before Darwin, most scientists thought that kelpies and griffins weren’t real, either, but anyone who’s ever been to the San Francisco Zoo knows that they are.”

Demonic water horses that lived to drown passersby.

Flying lions with a nearly immortal life span.

Kelpies. Griffins. Hellhounds. Zombies. And … psychics?

“Sometimes,” Skylar said solemnly, “make-believe is just another word for rare. Turn left at the next stop sign, Bethany.”

“What am I, your chauffeur?” The question was clearly rhetorical, because Bethany didn’t wait for an answer. “Tell me where we’re going, or I’m pulling over, and you two are walking home.”

I was severely tempted to take her up on the offer. The sooner I could convince Bethany she wanted no part of this, the better off I’d be. Unfortunately, the men in suits and the woman who’d accompanied them—the one who’d promised she’d “take care of things”—had been on the lookout for a cheerleader showing signs of chupacabra possession. Without knowing exactly what the nurse had told them, I couldn’t convince myself that Bethany would be better off without me. And that meant that I couldn’t just send her on her merry way, no matter how much I didn’t want an entourage for the things to come.

Maybe I really do have a hero complex.

The thought engendered a response in my body: a knowing feeling, a tightening of the muscles in my throat, a yes.

“Bethany, chill. Skylar, tell us where we’re going.” Those sentences burst out of my mouth with all of the bite I wanted to direct to the thing inside my head, and I immediately wished I could take it back.

“I won’t know where we’re going until we get there.” Skylar was completely unfazed by my snapping. “And once we get there, I probably won’t know why until you guys tell me what’s going on.”

“You’re the psychic,” Bethany muttered. “Shouldn’t you be able to figure it out for yourself?”

If anything, Skylar seemed enthused by the pointed question. “Reading your minds on command would require being significantly psychic, and I’m not. I never know when I’m going to pick up something, and it comes in pieces and feelings, not in words. So who wants to clue the sophomore in?”

Not me.

I didn’t want to drag Skylar into this. There was just something about her that screamed protect me! Whoever the men looking for the “anemic cheerleader” were, I was fairly certain I didn’t want them anywhere near the Little Optimist That Could.

Unfortunately, Bethany had no such predilection. “Sometime in the past week, I got bitten by a chupacabra. Somehow—no idea how—Kali lured it out of my body and into hers. She’s already far enough gone that medical science can’t do a thing to save her, and she’s got some kind of plan—probably a risky, unreliable one riddled with holes—to get the bloodsucker out.” Bethany blew out a long breath and then glanced back over her shoulder at Skylar. “There. You know what I know about the current situation. So, any time now, feel free to do your whole ‘psychic’ thing and tell me where the bedazzler we’re going, or I might be forced to physically hurt you.”

Skylar made a pfft sound with her lips. “Five brothers,” she said, pointing to herself. Then she pointed to Bethany. “Only child. I could totally take you. Turn left.”

Bethany slammed on the brakes. “Seriously?”

“Please?” Skylar smiled winningly, and after a long moment, Bethany turned left onto an access road that dead-ended into a large parking lot. She parked and killed the engine, and for a moment, the three of us took in the sight of a large, neon-green building shaped like a figure eight.

“Skate Haven?” I asked, reading the sign on the front of the building.

“Ice-skating?” Bethany said at the exact same time.

Skylar shrugged. “This is where we’re supposed to be,” she said firmly. “I’m sure there’s a reason. Just … give me a minute.”

A look of deep concentration settled over her impish features, and Skylar’s eyes trailed downward from my face to my stomach. Though my shirt was covering the symbol that had appeared there, Skylar’s gaze was sharp and focused, like my entire torso was laid bare.

“Just out of curiosity,” she said, her voice slow and thoughtful, “how do chupacabras react to the cold?”

7

The moment we stepped into Skate Haven, the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. The change was palpable, like a needle was feeding adrenaline straight into my veins. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t angry. But I was something, and if Skylar was right, the foreign presence inside of me was having some kind of adverse reaction to the cold.

“If ice-skating was the cure for chupacabra possession, don’t you think someone would have figured that out by now?” Bethany was making an admirable attempt at not throwing a hissy fit, but I could tell she found the effort taxing. “People spend their entire lives fighting for the chance to study these things. You can’t honestly believe that no one’s ever tried to see what would happen if you put one in the freezer.”

Skylar angled her palms heavenward and shrugged. “Hey, I’m just the messenger. If you have a problem with my logic, take it up with the universe at large. Now, who wants ice skates?”

Without a word to either of them, I walked toward the counter and told the guy working there my shoe size. Did I think I could just freeze out a presence that had woven itself into every fiber of my being?

No.

But unlike Bethany, I wasn’t looking for a way to get rid of the chupacabra. I was looking for a way to slow it down.

Fifteen hours and thirty-seven minutes.

The boy behind the counter handed me a pair of skates. They were faded and gray, but the blades gleamed like they’d just been polished, and I thought of the way my knife blade had looked as I’d pressed the tip into my forearm.

“This may be one of your last days on earth, and you’re going to spend it ice-skating?” Bethany’s voice was oddly hoarse. “We have no way of knowing how much time you have left. If you don’t have a plan, if we’re not actively fighting this …”

An hour before, she’d been in my shoes. This probably wasn’t the way she would have chosen to spend her last day, and I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d be doing if I didn’t think there was at least a chance I would survive.

I didn’t have an answer. Nothing on my human days made me feel the way that hunting did when I was Other. I’d never been any good at making friends, and until today, no one at Heritage had even known my name.

I didn’t have hobbies. I wasn’t part of any clubs. The idea of me playing on a sports team was ridiculous (for a variety of reasons, depending on the day), and the only family I had was my dad, who probably would have been torn between mild upset and academic fascination if he’d had any idea that I’d been bitten.

“Ice-skating sounds good,” I said.