For a moment, all I can do is stare. Stare at Haley, who wasn't Haley five seconds ago. He was a blonde woman—a stranger—who cussed us out and told the police where we went. Except the car is driving in the opposite direction, and Haley is right there. He walks a few steps down the road, pulls a phone out of one of the many pockets in his dark gray hoodie, then frowns and mutters something and puts it back. I fail to realize what that is all about until I remember I'm still holding his backpack, which means I have his stuff. All his cans and cigarettes and . . . whatever else he may be hiding in there.

I step out into the open and call out, "Hey!"

He jumps and turns to look at me. "Oh, hey. I didn't know you were still here."

I give him no response as I walk over to him. With every step I take, he looks more and more confused. When I'm right in front of him, I jut the backpack into his chest, and he struggles to grab it before it drops to the ground. His mouth opens.

"Did you know?" I ask before he can speak, keeping my voice low.

"What?"

"Did you know about me?"

His frown deepens. "I have no idea what you're talking about, man."

"You're a shapeshifter."

I've never seen one with my own eyes, but I've heard of them: people who have the ability to steal someone else's face and wear it over their own. Haley wasn't "wearing" anything, though. I saw that woman morph into Haley, like a human lava lamp.

"Wh—" He shakes his head. "A shape . . . what?"

"Oh, don't give me that. I saw you."

He's silent for all but one second before he's thought of something to say. "Uh, I don't know what you saw, man, but I can assure you I am not a . . . shapeshifter, whatever that is." He gestures at me. "Are you high?"

I let out an amused snort. "For somebody who has the ability to assume someone else's identity, you are remarkably bad at lying."

"What?!" he exclaims, his frown instantly replaced by a look of pure indignation. "I'm not bad at lying! You're just so convinced I'm lying that you won't believe me no matter what I say."

"So you admit that you're lying?"

"No, I—" He yanks the backpack onto his shoulder and lets out a sigh that borders on a growl. Whatever product he put in his hair this morning has started to lose its function—a dark lock falls in front of his face, and he shoves it back. "Ugh, whatever. You saw me, so I guess the cat's out of the bag."

I blink in surprise—surprise caused not by doubt but the expectation that I would keep being lied to. I don't even know how to respond, so I don't.

"Just don't tell anyone," he says. "I won't say anything about your mom."

Ah. Of course.

"Is that a threat?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"A promise, Gus. You trusted me with your secret, and I'm trusting you with mine."

"I didn't tell you my secret."

"Neither did I," he says, which . . . is honestly a good point.

I huff, shoving my hands in my pockets. "Alright. I won't tell anyone. I promise." As if I was ever planning on telling anyone, anyway. I wouldn't do that.

Haley lets out a breath. "Okay. Cool."

Awkward silence ensues. I shove my hands into my pockets, and he copies me—intentional or not, I can't tell. We stare at each other for a good twenty seconds. He opens his mouth, once, twice, but never says anything.

"Do you want my number?" I ask.

"Oh, yeah." He has his phone out of his pocket faster than I can blink. "Man, I thought I was gonna have to ask you to give me my shit back at school, which would have been so unfortunate. Nobody has guessed who's been gracing Larkwood with my beautiful dick graffiti yet, and I'd like to keep it that way. Speaking of . . ." He looks over his shoulder. "We should get out of here."

"Right." As we duck between the houses, I tell him my number. He saves it under "Gus," no last name, then starts typing out a text. My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I don't look at it; I'm keeping an eye on our surroundings. Whoever called the police on us is probably still around. I don't know where we're going, and Haley doesn't seem to know either because he keeps looking around corners, but it doesn't matter. We just need to get away from that tunnel in case the police circle back when they realize not-Haley sent them the wrong way. The whining of their siren continues in the background. I'm not sure if Haley can hear it . . . Do shapeshifters have sharper senses or is the shapeshifting all they get? I'm about to ask him when he suddenly stops.

"What?"

"What did you mean with that? 'Did you know about me?' Know what?"

"I didn't say that."

He rolls his eyes, and I feel like our roles have been reversed: he doesn't say anything, but he might as well have. The siren gets louder as I try to think of a way to distract him from the topic, and he definitely hears it now because his scowl deepens. "Seriously?" he mutters. "Let it go, guys."

I go in the opposite direction of the noise and hear him following behind.

He repeats his question, but I ignore him. It's time to stop wandering aimlessly, and I've spotted a landmark, which I point out to him, but he's not tall enough to see. Thankfully, he shuts up and takes my word for it. It's an old water tower, rust covering the shell—it probably hasn't been in use for years. I couldn't care less about water towers, but the sight of it makes me relax: I know where to go now.

I'm not sure why Haley's still here, honestly. He could have made himself look like someone else and left ages ago. If he knew about me, I'd understand this abrupt attachment, but he doesn't. Unless he is that good at lying.

When the siren fades again, I say, "So, you're a shapeshifter."

"Yup."

"Do you . . . know about any others?"

"I know there are others."

"Like what?" I ask. I don't look at him as I do.

"Uhh, like . . . telepaths, fairies, people who can turn into animals. All kinds of shit, really, but I've never met any. Larkwood is not very popular."

I hum in assent.

"It's not easy to find others when they're all hiding, anyway."

"Understandable."

"Yeah," he says, nodding in the corner of my eye. "There are hunters, you know? Superstitious nutjobs. They collect hides. Snakes, lizards, wolves, bears . . ."

I can't stop the shiver that racks my body at the thought.

I know.

"I wonder," he continues, "what would happen if they killed me while I looked like someone else? Would I still look like that after I'm dead? Would they just . . . string up some random person's body knowing it's me? An imitation of a stranger?"

"How does that work, anyway?"

He brings his backpack around to his chest, unzips the front compartment, and pulls out another cigarette. He takes his sweet ass time with it, too. The silence stretches on, interrupted only by the rattling of his cans. After he's taken a drag, he finally says, "You don't wanna know."

"Saints, Haley."

"Smoking helps."

"With what?"

"The urge."

I give him a dismayed look and fight the temptation to ask him for another cigarette, too. Instead, I breathe in the smoke he creates, which does not have the same effect but is enough for my sensitive nose to trick me into thinking it does. He's right. Whatever it is, I don't wanna know.

☽〇☾

When we're under the water tower, looking up and listening to the wind whistling through its tall, rusting legs, Haley says, "Now what?"

The sun has fully set, leaving the sky dark and full of stars.

I'm glad my uncle knows I'd be out late after work, or he'd be getting worried. Not that he'd ever say so. All he does is ask when I'll be back . . . and ask, and ask. I would be annoyed if I didn't understand why he does it. I would, too.

"I don't hear sirens anymore," I say.

Haley tilts his head. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, so you can go home."

"Pass."

Shrugging, I glance at the forest beyond the tower. That's where I was really going. The earthy smell of it invites me to step forward; to leave the lethargy of the city; to surround myself with trees and darkness and the calm of nature. "That urge . . ." I mumble. "Is it like an itch you can't scratch?"

"More like a hunger I can't feed," Haley says.

I hum before my brain processes his response. Hunger?

Hunger for what?

"Gus."

"Yeah?"

"What did you mean earlier?"

Hanging my head, I sigh. Why does he have to be clever? Really, it's my own fault for jumping to conclusions and blurting things before thinking, but he shouldn't have been able to figure out its significance. And he's definitely not gonna let it go, is he?

Fine.

"Do you know what they call people like you? Like, officially?" I look at him, and he shakes his head. Of course he doesn't. "Mythicals," I tell him. "Short for mythical creatures. Except we're not myths, are we?"

"No, we—we?"

"That's what I meant."

"I don't understand."

"I thought you wanted to be my friend because I'm a mythical."

"Because you're . . ." He shakes his head. "No, man, I had no idea. Shit. I mean, maybe subconsciously or something? Is that possible? Can we sense each other? I don't even—wait, so what are you?"

"I'm surprised you can't tell."

"Baby mythical, remember? I don't know jack shit."

"Wanna see?"

A grin appears on his face, teeth glinting in the moonlight. "Obviously."

"Alright, well . . ." I cast another glance at the forest. My skin is already itching for release—has been ever since we got to the water tower. "I don't want anyone else to see this, so we should go into the forest."

"Right. Totally not suspect."

"If that's the first time you're feeling suspicious, you deserve to die."

"What."

"You told and showed me, like, everything I would need to know to justify murdering you in cold blood—if I was a hunter."

He blinks. "Shit, you're right."

I nod.

"The fact that you just pointed that out means I can trust you, though."

I raise a brow. "Does it? Does it, really?"

"Alright, I get your point." He pushes me forward. "Chop chop."

We trudge through the undergrowth of the forest until I can no longer see the houses, at which point there's not much to see anymore at all. The roof of leaves over our head is blocking the moon, and I imagine Haley is even more blind than me considering he's tripped twice now. When I ask if he has any heightened senses, he only laughs. I'm not sure what that means, and I'm too distracted to inquire. My ears are attuned to the hooting of an owl, my nose to the smell of a fox, mice, birds, the dampness of last night's rain. I go a bit farther, knowing there's a clearing up ahead, before I stop. I've almost forgotten I'm supposed to show Haley—I almost turn right then and there. It wouldn't be the first time. I abruptly face Haley and say, "Okay."

"Okay," he echoes.

"I need to take my clothes off for this, so . . ."

He nods.

"So could you turn around?"

"Oh." He's about to say something, changes his mind, and turns around, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Sorry," he says, rocking on his heels.

"I've ripped through enough clothes as it is," I explain.

He exhales from the nose—a laugh.

I shrug out of my jacket, my sweater, my jeans, and they all go on a pile beside me, along with my boots. They're the only nice things I own, really. The rest is all faded and long overdue for a replacement. My brown jacket even has loose threads, but I can't get myself to get rid of it, so I've taken to tucking the threads into the seams with a sewing needle, which is a whole ordeal on its own with how big my hands are. Whatever it takes. It's the only thing I have left of my dad.

As I reach for the waistband of my underwear, Haley asks if I need any help. I'm about to let out a laugh of the nose-exhale kind myself when he turns his head ever so slightly, as if trying to sneak a peek.

"Not yet!" I blurt.

"Sorry. Should I count?"

"Uh, yeah, sure."

"How much?"

I roll my eyes. "I don't know—fifteen seconds?"

"Fifteen, fourteen . . ."

Shaking my head, I throw my boxers on top of the pile, before putting my hands down on the ground. It only takes a few seconds for brown fur to sprout on my arms and for my muscles and bones to grow. There's no pain, but it's a funny feeling, like being squished through a tube. Once I'm out, I'm free, and the world explodes. The sound of cars driving along the highway and rustling leaves creates a constant rush in the background, and every tree within my sight is visible, the darkness no longer inhibiting my vision. I can smell animals from miles away, and the less natural smells from the city, a big jumbled mess of gasoline and diesel, garbage, rubber, plastic, metal, food, and plants unknown to the forest. The cans in Haley's backpack are poignant now, the cigarettes suddenly rather unattractive.

When Haley reaches the end of his count, he asks if he can turn around yet, and I answer by walking over, getting up on my hind legs, and putting a hairy paw on his shoulder. He shrieks and jerks away from me before he looks. He freezes, his eyes growing wide as they go up, and up.

"Holy shit, man," he says. "You're a bear."

☽〇☾