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Authors: Cynthia Leitich Smith
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beneath that, A DIVISION OF MCC ENTERPRISES . She unscrews the top and sniffs it. “Hmm . . .” Then she tries the red. “They’re indistinguishable from transformeaze, but . . . I’m not sure what we’ve got here.”
Transformeaze is a black-market drug that can temporarily halt a shift in progress. It’s nasty stuff. The formula is brewed using a demonic spell and can cost users their self-control. The Daemon Island snowmen, working through their dealer Paxton, were local suppliers.
Now MCC is manufacturing something like it? Or was MCC manufacturing it all along? The evidence is piling up. I might as well be the one to say it. “MCC and the FHPU could both be controlled by the snowmen.”
“Pretty elaborate ruse, posing as federal officials,” Kayla observes aloud, leaning against the side of the van. “Why go to so much trouble?”
“The arctic asshats routinely hire humans and crooked shifters as front men,” Clyde says. “They’ve even been known to raise demons.” He rubs his bristly chin. “Shifters have a long, not-always-friendly history with law enforcement. The arrival of a federal agent would scare most of us into cooperating. Add werebear muscle to that and . . .” He’s thinking about his family. “We should take off before they send someone else.”
I doubt Quincie will relocate Joshua, but I feel sorry for anyone who tries to mess with her right now. She doesn’t only have superpowers — she’s got connections. There’s a limit to how much hands-on help we get from heaven — something about free will. Still, when she shouts out to an angel, she can count on an answer back.
Miz Morales holds the vial up to the daylight, frowns, and returns it to the case. “Hang on, I’m lost. What snowmen? Aimee, what’re —?”
“She means the goddamn greedy yetis.” Yoshi opens the door and hides the briefcase under the front seat. “They live to make money off our furry hides.”
“The arctic asshats on the news,” Clyde says, in an effort to be more helpful.
“Those albino Bigfoot creatures?” Miz Morales asks, retrieving her medical bag. “I thought that was a hoax.”
“White fur, but they’re not albinos.” Clyde slides the van side door shut. “As for the hoax . . . that’s what they want everyone to think.”
“Let’s say these so-called yetis are in charge,” Kayla puts in, raising a finger to count off the players. “
Homo sapiens
are their target market. MCC is their corporate arm. The fake FHPU is their strike force. The chipped or sellout weresnake is their front man, and . . . that’s all I’ve got.” It’s a lot more than we’d put together an hour ago.
Except . . . I ask, “You really think they’re working with the weresnake?”
“If their MO is using shifters against shifters . . .” Kayla looks to the boys, who nod for confirmation. “The fact that a theatrical werereptile just kidnapped a state leader to declare war . . .”
“A war that would generate a fortune in sales for MCC’s brand-spanking-new product line . . .” Clyde continues.
“Seems like a huge coincidence,” Yoshi concludes. “Too huge.”
“Excellent.” Miz Morales stows her medical bag on the front passenger floorboard.
Really? It’s basically my worst nightmare. Clyde and I exchange a look.
Yoshi asks, “Excellent how?”
Hugging me good-bye, the Wolf woman’s smile is vicious. “Knowledge is power.”
OUR NEW HIDEOUT is a two-and-a-half-story Craftsman bungaloid mansion with a beige stucco facade and dark green wrought-iron balcony rails. Statues of sleeping dragons guard the entrance to the front portico. The inside has been recently restored, mostly appointed with what Yoshi describes as “Stickley furnishings.” The fridge is fully stocked. His grams’s truck is parked in the detached garage. What my mom wouldn’t do to land a real-estate listing like this.
It’s another property that Quincie owns. “Inherited” was how Clyde put it. She
Transformeaze is a black-market drug that can temporarily halt a shift in progress. It’s nasty stuff. The formula is brewed using a demonic spell and can cost users their self-control. The Daemon Island snowmen, working through their dealer Paxton, were local suppliers.
Now MCC is manufacturing something like it? Or was MCC manufacturing it all along? The evidence is piling up. I might as well be the one to say it. “MCC and the FHPU could both be controlled by the snowmen.”
“Pretty elaborate ruse, posing as federal officials,” Kayla observes aloud, leaning against the side of the van. “Why go to so much trouble?”
“The arctic asshats routinely hire humans and crooked shifters as front men,” Clyde says. “They’ve even been known to raise demons.” He rubs his bristly chin. “Shifters have a long, not-always-friendly history with law enforcement. The arrival of a federal agent would scare most of us into cooperating. Add werebear muscle to that and . . .” He’s thinking about his family. “We should take off before they send someone else.”
I doubt Quincie will relocate Joshua, but I feel sorry for anyone who tries to mess with her right now. She doesn’t only have superpowers — she’s got connections. There’s a limit to how much hands-on help we get from heaven — something about free will. Still, when she shouts out to an angel, she can count on an answer back.
Miz Morales holds the vial up to the daylight, frowns, and returns it to the case. “Hang on, I’m lost. What snowmen? Aimee, what’re —?”
“She means the goddamn greedy yetis.” Yoshi opens the door and hides the briefcase under the front seat. “They live to make money off our furry hides.”
“The arctic asshats on the news,” Clyde says, in an effort to be more helpful.
“Those albino Bigfoot creatures?” Miz Morales asks, retrieving her medical bag. “I thought that was a hoax.”
“White fur, but they’re not albinos.” Clyde slides the van side door shut. “As for the hoax . . . that’s what they want everyone to think.”
“Let’s say these so-called yetis are in charge,” Kayla puts in, raising a finger to count off the players. “
Homo sapiens
are their target market. MCC is their corporate arm. The fake FHPU is their strike force. The chipped or sellout weresnake is their front man, and . . . that’s all I’ve got.” It’s a lot more than we’d put together an hour ago.
Except . . . I ask, “You really think they’re working with the weresnake?”
“If their MO is using shifters against shifters . . .” Kayla looks to the boys, who nod for confirmation. “The fact that a theatrical werereptile just kidnapped a state leader to declare war . . .”
“A war that would generate a fortune in sales for MCC’s brand-spanking-new product line . . .” Clyde continues.
“Seems like a huge coincidence,” Yoshi concludes. “Too huge.”
“Excellent.” Miz Morales stows her medical bag on the front passenger floorboard.
Really? It’s basically my worst nightmare. Clyde and I exchange a look.
Yoshi asks, “Excellent how?”
Hugging me good-bye, the Wolf woman’s smile is vicious. “Knowledge is power.”
OUR NEW HIDEOUT is a two-and-a-half-story Craftsman bungaloid mansion with a beige stucco facade and dark green wrought-iron balcony rails. Statues of sleeping dragons guard the entrance to the front portico. The inside has been recently restored, mostly appointed with what Yoshi describes as “Stickley furnishings.” The fridge is fully stocked. His grams’s truck is parked in the detached garage. What my mom wouldn’t do to land a real-estate listing like this.
It’s another property that Quincie owns. “Inherited” was how Clyde put it. She
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