As soon as the bell rings for the end of school, I am out the campus door. I need to find somewhere to safely ditch my clothes and bag so I can run home through the wood in my fox form. My bones ache, my nerves are firing, and the fact I hardly slept last night all makes idea of staying in my human skin for much longer is almost unbearable. After the Bruno incident last week, I hid a change of clothes in our hedge for times just like this.

I make my way through the parking lot when a voice calls out to me. "Amaya! Wait up."

Blaire gallops toward me.

"Want to hang out?" she asks once she catches her breath.

"Um." I twist the strap of my satchel with my hands. Blaire could provide me with information about Tori so I can figure out how both Bax and Raiju are connected, if there even is a connection. Plus, I can't help but feel sorry for Blaire. Most of our classmates haven't been supportive of her grief over Tori. Maybe we could've become friends if that stupid wolf wasn't running around. Blaire doesn't need to become one of his innocent victims because of me. "I guess. What do you have in mind?"

"Figured you could probably use some cheering up, so I thought maybe getting coffee?" Blaire pushes her hair out of her face and I'm shocked at how red her eyes are. Caffeine is probably the only thing keeping this girl awake.

Blaire leads the way to a coffee shop only a few blocks from school. It's simple, run by two elderly women. The décor looks like it hasn't been updated in decades.

"It's quiet," Blaire says as we head to the counter. "The desserts are amazing—all home-made. You have to try the apple pie."

Blaire rambles on about some report her and Gretchen have to write on Queen Victoria II as we wait for our order to be filled. Apparently, she's a favorite with the elderly baristas who cluck delightedly at the fact she's brought a friend. We're given generous slices of apple pie and told to call out if we want a refill on our drinks.

My eyes rest on the coffee mug filled with hot chocolate. Perfection. I reach out and grab my steaming drink, coated in the same warm brown as Blaire's lipstick. Hot milk, cocoa, sugar. Sometimes the simplest things are the best.

The hot chocolate is topped with swirling white milk foam and spotted with cocoa powder. I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the warmth flow through my fingers. I close my eyes as I sip the liquid, its dark richness coating my tongue before flowing down my throat.

"Can I ask you a question about Japan?" Blaire says.

"Of course." I return my mug to the table and sink back into the comfy chair.

Blaire takes what looks to be a small cloth pouch out of her pencil case and slides it across the table to me. "Can you tell me what this is?"

"That's easy." I pick it up, running my fingers over the embroidered surface. "It's a charm. You can buy them at temples. They bring good luck, health, good grades—whatever you want."

"What can you tell me about this one?"

"It's a protection charm. Specifically, protection against the elements—wind, rain, and storms." Clearly, it does nothing against Afton weather. I turn the charm over, reading the name on the back. "From Senso-ji temple."

"Senso-ji? Where is that?"

"Tokyo. It's one of the biggest temples in Japan. It's well known, mostly for its massive gates. They're known as the thunder gates."

"So, this isn't..." Blaire hesitates. "Personal?"

I tilt my head and hand the charm back to her. "What do you mean?"

Blaire stares at me unblinking. The girl is drowning in body spray, and I have a hard time keeping my eyes from watering. "I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone except Tori. But you have to promise not to tell anyone."

Not sure what it is about my human form, but I'm learning secrets and deep personal information about my classmates without relying on my powers. Interesting. "I promise."

"My dad—my real dad—gave this to my mother. I thought it might be a clue to his identity."

My eyes widen. "You're Japanese?"

Blaire blushes. "I know, it doesn't show. I take after my mother's Punjabi side. Otherwise, everyone in town would know that—well, my mum cheated and I'm the result."

"Wow. I had no idea."

"Most people don't. They only know my parents divorced, not why." Blaire's gaze falls to her hands and her shoulders slump forward. "I hate this town and its stupid, hypocritical people. If I could only find my real dad—tell him how I feel...." She sighs.

I love Japan. How could I not? But it's not kind to people who look foreign. And if Blaire's the result of an affair, most won't take kindly to her. "Is this the only clue you have?"

Blaire nods. "Mum told me they met in Osaka, at the Kuromon Ichiba market. She was staring at a stall selling scallops, wondering how on earth she could buy one, when the man beside her bought one and presented it to her in perfect English. She was totally swept off her feet." Blaire sighs. "Going to that market is on my bucket list. Have you ever been there?"

I shake my head. "I grew up in a small town, a really small town. I moved to Tokyo after my birth parents died, but I was only there ten months. And sight-seeing wasn't exactly a priority." Not when Raiju might've been stalking me every time I left the protective shelter of the orphanage dormitories.

Blaire shoves a large helping of pie into her mouth without looking away, yet blinking as if expecting me to say more.

I drop my gaze, focusing on the chocolatey liquid I swirl around in my cup, and clear my throat. "This is a really personal question, and I understand if you don't want to answer..."

Blaire eyes me curiously.

I suck a breath. "What happened to Tori?"

Blaire's gaze drops and her fork cuts into her pie—over and over again. "Why do you want to know?" She never brings a piece to her mouth as she continues to claw at her dessert.

Tension fills the space around us, the silence deafening as I try to come up with an answer. Chewing the inside of my lip, my gaze roams around the coffee shop. "There's so much tension at school about how she died but I feel like there's more to the story."

Blaire crumbles a sachet of sugar into the coffee in front of her. "She'd never been asked to a party before, so when Clay, one of the lacrosse players, invited her to the preseason party at his house, she was thrilled. But the following Monday she came to school different. Quiet. Depressed. Something happened at the party. That's all I know."

I set my mug down on the table. Before I can respond Blaire's phone rings, her mother texting that she needs to head home. The cold breeze as I step out the front door is refreshing. I give Blaire a hug thanking her for hanging and pull my phone out to call my mom. But change my mind as Blaire turns the corner. She's leaving something out. Maybe the local news websites have more information Blaire is unwilling to share. Sticking my hands into my pocket, I head toward the center of town.

Afton is too large to be a small town, but not big enough to be a full-fledged city. Downtown is a twenty-minute walk from Radley, but it only takes me fifteen. The smells emanating from the restaurants lining the buildings on either side of the streets make my mouth water, and the cute coffee shops peddling beautiful-smelling espresso and tea don't make things any easier.

The library looms ahead—a towering, red-bricked Victorian building. I grin wide, quickening my pace. I push open the heavy wooden door and step inside, breathing in the smell of old pages and ink—some of my favorite human scents. Kaasan's ancestors traveled the world, collecting old books. They were seekers of knowledge. I am too—although the knowledge I'm after isn't found in old books.

I walk across the tiled chessboard floor, looking around. About fifty bookshelves fan out from the central reception area filling the room. To the left is a staircase with a sign indicating computers are on the third floor.

Luck is on my side when I reach the third floor. At the far end of the room, a man in a thickly knitted sweater sits reading Fisherman's Week, but none of the computers are taken. I use one right at the end, letting my bag drop to the carpeted floor. I dig out a pen and notebook and start typing. Within a few moments, I have Aimee Bender's life at my fingertips. Her Facebook, her appearance at the Nationals with her gymnastic team, her obituary. I frown, navigating to the news pages.

"Nothing." I read every single account, but while the statements made by Aimee's family differ, the facts are the same. A vicious attack and the Sheriff's office urging caution.

My fingers lace though my hair, nails digging into my scalp. This isn't getting me anywhere. There must be something more.

Or someone.

I replay previous conversations from the past week and a half in my head. Hadn't Blaire accused the lacrosse team of killing Tori? My fingers punch the keys, typing "Tori" and "Radley High" into the search engine. The first three or four results are local police reports. I click the first link.

I try to swallow but my throat is as dry as sandpaper as I read the first article that flashed onto my screen. Tori was hit by a car and left to die on the corner of Main and Monroe Streets. A group of people walking home from dinner at the Pine Palace found her injured and unconscious. The police state she had been there for almost two hours before they arrived on scene. No one witnessed the accident and no traffic cameras are in the area, so the car nor a possible driver could be identified. Tori died a few days later in the hospital from a massive brain bleed.

The last article I read mentions Tori's father accusing Sheriff Warren of covering up evidence involving his son, even going so far as to bring a lawsuit against the Sheriff. But after Mr. Milton was arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct in public, the case was thrown out.

"You can't listen to Blaire."

I flinch and turn to find Gretchen, her eyes travelling between the news article and myself. I was so focused on my research, I didn't hear her walk up behind me.

"She believes Mr. Milton. No one else does. He's just angry the Sheriff couldn't find the driver. But a hit and run that no one saw, one no cameras caught...no way the cops will ever find who did it." Gretchen snorts and flips her hair over her shoulder.

I cock my left brow. "Is that what you believe—or what you want to believe?"

Her eyes narrow, her head slightly tilted. "In a town like this, you don't want to make enemies."

"Why because Bax's father will silence them? Because justice doesn't prevail in this town unless you are friends with Sheriff Warren?"

She narrows her eyes and leans closer. "Amaya, you better be careful what you say. I'm not sure how things were where you lived before, but you aren't there now. The rules are different."

I open my mouth to snap at her when I notice the book in her arms. A chill runs down my spine. What does Gretchen want with a book titled Wolves of North America: Their Habits and Habitats when Blaire had said their report was on Queen Victoria II?

Oh, gods. Bile crawls up the back of my throat. She's investigating the attacks. But before I can think of something to say, some question to ask, she spins on her heels and walks away.

If I don't figure out how to get Raiju out of Afton, Gretchen might become his next victim.