Exactly a week after the first day of my assaulter's suspension, Haley and Davy seem to think it's time for everybody to lose their shit again. First, Haley goes offline all evening. Then, he texts me about the good news in the morning, so when I get to school, I know exactly what to expect. I can't even be mad, because for the first time in weeks, people aren't paying attention to me. They're staring at their local celebrity, Haley Sinclair, and his new boyfriend, Davy Harding.

About damn time.

Also, Haley's neck resembles my ribs when I got beat up, so I guess they had fun.

When I ask if that's going to be a problem when we meet with Penelope, he says, "Oh, yeah, don't worry about it. I can just hide it. When I shift, it's basically like putting on makeup. Their skin lays on top of my own body. I figured that out when I had a pretty gnarly wound a few years ago. I could still feel it hurting beneath my skin, but it was invisible."

"Hmm." I watch a bird land on the pavement ahead of us and take flight again when we get too close. "What if you need to show the wound, though? Like, what if you get injured while you're wearing their skin? It'd be pretty weird if it just disappeared."

"It won't. I gotta make a conscious effort to hide it."

"What, the whole time?"

"Just while I'm shifting."

"Oh, okay. That's good."

"Well, I would hope I'm not getting injured on a date," Haley says, laughing.

It wasn't difficult to get Penelope to agree to one. The first thing she said was that she thought he'd never ask and then proposed a date: Friday. Perfect. Well, not really, because that's my bear day, and I have work, but I'm lucky to have Stacie as my boss, and I can just go to the woods in the afternoon again.

Good news is, I can finally do everything I used to be able to before the assault. The doctor said my ribs could take as long as six weeks to fully heal, so I'm glad it only took them four. I'd like to be in top form for this "date." Just in case.

"Are you nervous?" I ask.

"Yeah, obviously," Haley says, taking a drag from his cigarette, before handing it to me. "What if it's not her?"

I slowly inhale the smoke. "Then we'll keep looking."

"Okay, but what do I do in that moment? Do I just end the date? Like, Sorry, you're not what I expected? Have a nice evening?"

"You're not obligated to stay."

"I know, but still. I'm just thinking about when I told Davy I was taking him out for a date, and for a moment, it seemed like he didn't want me to, and I was like, Shit, what did I do? He was just confused because he didn't know I'd changed my mind, but—anyway, if Penelope is a human who's just looking forward to a date with another human, I don't wanna make her feel like that."

"Haley, I doubt it's the first time she goes out with someone who doesn't end up wanting to be with her. She's an adult. She can handle it."

He tilts his head. "True."

"Let's assume she is the woman we're looking for, okay?"

"Okay. Then . . . how should I bring it up?"

☽〇☾

Getting through the last day of school is near impossible. I can't stop thinking about tonight, worrying about how Penelope will take the news that Matthew is not actually there for a romantic date. I'm not concerned with her not being a snake but, rather, with her refusing to sell us information because we tricked her, or worse, selling us out. Not even everyone's obsession with Haley's relationship can distract me, as much as it amuses me, and I think it's the same for Haley.

They grow increasingly annoyed with their curious looks, especially when Davy comes to their locker after class to ask if they want to come over tonight, and a group of girls overhear him and start to giggle and murmur amongst themselves.

"For fuck's sake," Haley says, glaring at them. "You'd think everyone at this school has never seen two people in a relationship before."

The girls instantly shut up and look away.

"Okay, I guess you're not in the mood today," Davy remarks.

"Sorry." They clear their throat. "I'd love to, but I already have plans."

"Oh. Tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah, sure—tomorrow. I'll text you, okay?"

Davy nods and leans down to kiss them on the lips, so quickly I almost miss it. That's probably the point, though, since everybody's still watching them like hawks. Then he smiles at me. "See you around."

"See you," I reply.

He leaves, and Haley stares after him, muttering so low only I can hear it, "I'd much prefer to go with him tonight, but I've got a date. A date with a snake."

"Matthew's got a date."

"Right. Lucky guy."

I laugh and tell them, "Come on."

We drive to the woods, I run around and climb a few trees—much to Haley's delight—and then we go to Haley's house so they can prepare their disguise. It takes them a while to decide on the right clothes because they don't want to wear the exact same thing as they did in the pictures. They go back and forth a lot, pairing items together from different outfits, until they're happy. They've settled on the ripped skinny jeans, a close-fitting sweater rolled up to the elbows, and a black jacket for the cold weather.

Now all that's left is for them to fully transform into Matthew and drive to the restaurant where we're meeting with Penelope.

We picked this place for a few different reasons. First off, it's one of those restaurants where they cook your food in the middle of the room, which means there will be lots of noise to cover up strange conversation topics for any curious human ears. Secondly, it lets us pick two tables in close proximity so I can listen in with my superhuman ears. And most importantly, Penelope is a big meat lover, which The Roast Pit is famous for.

Matthew's date arrives ten minutes after he's taken his seat. I'm sitting a table away, with my back to them, and I watch her approach while holding the menu in front of my face. Penelope Cavanaugh is pure elegance. In her green calf-length dress, she moves like a dancer, each step deliberate and perfect. And I know—I just know she has to be a snake. I don't know how, but I do. I've never been more sure of anything in my life. There's something about the way she moves, the way she narrows her eyes at her date, as if preparing for a kill.

She slides into the seat across from Matthew and says in a sultry voice, "You don't look like your picture." And my stomach drops.

But Matthew's voice is still Matthew's—not Haley's.

"What?" he utters.

"You look better," she says.

"Oh." He lets out a nervous laugh. "You as well."

I put the menu down and drag a hand across my face, then spend the following fifteen minutes third wheeling in silence while Penelope and Matthew flirt like there's no tomorrow. It's a real comfort when my food arrives. Thankfully, eating makes Penelope less chatty as well—I guess she really loves that pork. It's going well so far, truthfully, but that's not the point. We haven't gotten to the hard part yet. There's always a chance that the moment Matthew changes the subject, all of that groundwork will have been for nothing.

I wait, anxiously, as the minutes go by, until Matthew's baritone voice finally asks the question. "You know I have money, right?"

"Yeah?" Penelope laughs a little. "Are you bragging?"

"No."

Silence falls, and although I can't see it, I know that this is the moment.

This is when Haley transforms Matthew's face into a younger version of him, just for a second, to show Penelope what he is. It's a risky move, but we practiced it, and I assured Haley the difference is noticeable but not extreme. If you don't know shapeshifters exist, you'd think you imagined it. A trick of the light, maybe. After all, there's a smoldering fire in the middle of the restaurant, which can do some funny things to a person's face. We even thought about what Matthew could say if she has no idea. He's not obligated to stay, but it would be weird if he just got up and left, so, instead, he could admit he did want to brag a little bit, actually. He could tell her about his plans to get a house or a new car. He could talk about the shitty town he came from and about how happy he is to be here now.

But every idea we had flies out the window the moment she says, "I see."

All the flirtatiousness is gone. Her voice is monotone. Cold.

"I'm sorry to bring you here under false pretenses," Matthew-Haley says softly. "I hope you can forgive me . . . or that you'll let me compensate you, at least. You're the only person I know who might be able to help me."

"Who told you that?"

"Someone you helped in the past."

"Who?"

"I can't say that."

She tsks. "Fine. I guess it doesn't really matter."

I breathe out in relief.

"How much?" Haley-Matthew asks.

"Depends. What would you like to know?"

"Do you know anyone like me?"

"No. You're the first."

He lets out a long sigh. "Damn, okay. . . . Then I would just like to know everything you know about, uh, my kind. And if you have friends or associates who might know more, I'd like to get in touch with them, too. Any information would be helpful to me. You know, I grew up very isolated."

"Yes, you told me."

"Yeah. So, uh . . . how much?"

She hums. "Five grand."

"Deal."

"Wow, you didn't even hesitate," she says with a laugh. "Can I ask for ten?"

"I mean, I already said deal, but if you really need it . . ."

She's quiet for a moment before she says, "To be completely honest with you, I can't guarantee any of my associates will be able to tell you anything, so I'll take five for what I know, but if you want me to ask around anyway, it'll be ten. Is that fair?"

"Yeah, that's fair. I'm happy to pay the full price if there's a chance I can get more information. I'll take anything, honestly. I've only got five grand on me right now, though, so I'll have to give you the rest later."

"You brought five grand?"

"I told you, you're the only person I know who can help me. I came prepared."

"You should have led with that," she says. "Show me."

There's some rustling behind me as Haley takes the envelope out of his jacket and hands it to Penelope. She counts the bills under her breath before putting it away and clearing her throat.

Her next suggestion is for him to get more money as soon as she's done telling him everything she knows about shapeshifters, but she'll go ahead and send out a few emails to her associates so she can get the ball rolling—a token of good faith, if you will.

Haley agrees.

It takes her a few minutes to type out her email, so Haley takes the opportunity to text me. He says I could go out to get the money—he'll just hand me his card in the bathroom or something—but I'm not leaving him alone with Penelope. She's an opportunist, if I've ever seen one.

Once more, Haley agrees.

Over dessert, Penelope starts talking.

"Shapeshifters are the rarest kind of mythical. That's mostly because of your low reproduction rate. You probably knew that already, but to be exact, the shapeshifter gene is estimated to be dormant in about eighty percent of your children. It's possible that the percentage is higher with two shapeshifters, of course, but as far as I know, that's never happened before, so it's just a theory. Another reason you guys are rare is that you have a high risk of developing mental disorders, which can lead to erratic, lawless behavior and suicide attempts. But the most important one is hunters. Killing a shapeshifter is their dream."

"I'm not surprised," Haley says. "Who doesn't want a rare specimen in their collection? Can you tell me more about those disorders, though? Is that something I can . . . avoid?"

"Depends on how many people you absorb."

"The more I take, the crazier I get?"

"Well, yes and no. From what I've heard, there's two kinds of shapeshifters. Those who starve themselves and those who overfeed. Both lead to a very different kind of insanity. If you can maintain a healthy balance, you'll be fine."

"Okay."

"What that looks like, I don't know."

"Maybe one of your associates knows."

"Maybe."

"Do you know if there's a way to still the hunger without, uh, drinking?"

"Ah, I see you're the starving kind . . ."

I can hear her smiling, but I don't know why. She must know what it's doing to him. He's already suffering from a nicotine addiction, an unhealthy dependancy on sex, occasional drug use, and God knows what else. That's not funny. It's not even amusing.

"I'm sure you've already found it," she says. "Distraction and substance abuse. But that's not much of a life."

"I know. The problem is, I haven't figured out a way to get blood without getting in trouble for it. So far, I've just been lucky."

"That's why a lot of shapeshifters are serial killers. Their hunger drives them to murder, so they make a sport out of it. Doctors and nurses come in second place. Complete opposite end of the spectrum. The rest takes whatever they can get: homeless people, druggies, whores. Should be easy for a guy like you. You're strong, rich, and handsome. St. Richard is full of people like that, ready for the taking."

"Not much of a life," Haley echoes.

"Fine. Become a doctor then, Mister Morality."

He doesn't respond to that and starts asking more questions, but they quickly come to the conclusion that Penelope can't tell him much more than what he already knows, so they set out to get those extra five grand.

I think it's a rather steep price, but it's Haley's money.

I wait until they've left the restaurant before tucking a few bills under my empty glass. There's no time to wait for the waiter, but I know how much it was. They can keep the rest. I step outside before anyone can notice I've left my table and follow Penelope and Matthew, staying far behind in case she also has super hearing or something like that.

What's a snake's best sense, anyway? Smell? No, wait, they have heat receptors. I don't know if she'd have those in human form too, but I'm not gonna take any chances. Whenever they disappear out of my sight, I just use my nose and ears to keep track of them. As long as I can hear them talking, I know where they are, and more importantly, I know Haley's fine. After about three blocks, they get to the ATM, and Haley withdraws his money. I can see him hand it over to Penelope, but I can't hear what they're saying from where I am, so I just stand there and watch them. He nods at something she says, she smiles in response, and then they start walking again. Together.

Alright. More following, I guess.

They take a few turns, going deeper into the city, and I keep an eye on the city map on my phone, wondering where the hell they're going. Haley wouldn't be stupid enough to let her take him someplace shady, would he?

hey where are you going?

pls tell me you're not going home with her or something

He doesn't answer—doesn't even read it, but I can still hear their voices.

It's fine as long as I can hear their voices.

Still, I quicken my pace to make sure I don't lose them, staring at my screen all the while. Would it hurt Haley to send me a quick message? Park? Cafe? Anything? Ill-fated thoughts are invading my head by the hundreds. My heart is pumping, pumping, as if I'm on the run. I don't know if I'm panicking for nothing, but something doesn't feel right.

hello??

Still, no reply.

Matthew says something, and Penelope laughs.

Then, there's a muffled shout.

At first, I think it's someone else. It came from the same direction as them, sure, but there was nothing leading up to it. No sounds. No silence. Just a laugh. But then neither of them says anything. All I can hear is those suppressed cries, and . . . Yeah, that's definitely Matthew. Haley.

I start running.

When I fly around the corner, four people are forcing a man with black hair into a dark van before the door slides shut. Not even a second later, it starts driving, tires screeching in its haste to get away. By the time I reach the road, they're more than a hundred feet ahead of me.

"Fuck!" I shout. There's no way I'm gonna catch up to them.

Not that I could have done anything. That van is full of hunters—I don't doubt it. They're professionally trained fighters. They probably have guns, too. I would need help.

But I didn't even get to memorize the license plate number!

I've got nothing.

Oh, God, what am I gonna do? What the fuck am I gonna do? They're going to fucking kill him! They're going to rip him to shreds and hang the remains on the wall, like a bloody painting. A trophy of my friend—

"I thought we were being followed," says a familiar voice behind me.

I spin on my heels, glaring at Penelope Cavanaugh. "You."

"Me," she agrees.

"They're going to kill him, aren't they?"

"Yes."

"Tell me where they're taking him."

☽〇☾