I pushed the door gently and it swung silently inward. Lou eased in ahead of me, alert but apparently not too worried. The inside was one long room, a straight shot from the door through a front section and into a kitchen area.

Morgan was sitting on a stool at a counter that divided the room part of the kitchen from the stove and fridge and sink. Her back was toward me and she was eating whatever she’d bought at the grocery.

I squeezed the earth in my hand, taking comfort in my weapon. It was my ace in the hole-if it worked, that was. There was no reason it shouldn’t; I’d thought it out clearly and constructed it well, but you never really know for sure if something will do the job until you try it out in real life.

“Hello, Morgan,” I said.

She jumped and knocked over whatever she’d been eating onto the floor. It looked like yogurt. She spun around on the stool and I got a clear view of her face. Surprise, almost shock, and some fear as well. Interesting.

We all like to think we can read faces, that we can tell when someone’s being evasive, or is angry, or fearful. But in truth, we can’t. Sure, some people are an open book, but most of us become quite adept at masking our emotions.

But if you startle someone, you can sometimes get a true reading. There’s still a problem, though-how to interpret what you see. Was Morgan the shape-shifter afraid because she knew I’d come for her? Or was it the real Morgan, afraid because she feared I was the shape-shifter myself?

“I thought you were out of town,” I said, keeping alert for the slightest hint of a change in her appearance.

“I couldn’t do it,” she said. “I was all set to go, and then I thought what if that thing followed me, tracked me down, and killed my parents, too? I couldn’t do that to them.” I nodded and looked around the room.

“Nice place,” I said. She glanced around abstractedly.

“It’s my friend Missy’s. She’s out of town.” She focused on me again. “How did you find me?”

I shrugged. I was more concerned with finding out for sure who she was than making small talk.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. “Why didn’t you answer your cell?”

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to; it was obvious. She hadn’t trusted me. Fair enough-I wasn’t in a trusting mood myself.

I looked closely at her, hoping irrationally for some clue. My gut told me she was really Morgan, but the gut can be mistaken. If it couldn’t, there wouldn’t be so many failed love affairs. But my head also weighed in. I’d seen those tears by the pet store, when she thought no one was watching. They could have been faked, but for what reason? She’d thought she was alone.

But the Wendigo had fingered her. That should be proof enough right there-what possible reason would he have to lie about such a thing? Unless… More thoughts raced through my head. What if he weren’t the Wendigo at all? Shape-shifters weren’t restricted to human form, as I’d seen. Could the shape-shifter have killed him?

Maybe not-the Wendigo was quite capable of taking care of himself. But she wouldn’t have needed to. A perfect imitation wasn’t necessary-the Wendigo was so odd that I wouldn’t be able to tell what was normal for him and what wasn’t anyway. And Lou wouldn’t necessarily have caught on, either-since both the Wendigo and the shape-shifter weren’t quite of our world.

But what was the point in putting me on Morgan’s trail? If the shape-shifter wanted her dead, it would have been simple for it to kill her. A moment’s thought and I had it. If the shape-shifter killed her, I’d still be after it, more determined than ever. And if the shape-shifter somehow managed to kill me, Victor and Eli would never rest until they got it. After what had happened to the first shape-shifter, it had to be wary of us.

But if it convinced me that Morgan was the shape-shifter, and I killed Morgan, it would be home free. No more shape-shifter; problem solved. As long as it kept a low profile, we wouldn’t even know it was still out there. It could even leave, relocate to another city, and we’d never suspect. And as far as it knew, there was no reason I’d ever see the Wendigo again.

I sat down across from Morgan, keeping some space between us, and keeping the moist earth ready in my hand, just in case. I was 99 percent sure I had it right, but that 1 percent is what usually kills you.

“You should have left town,” I said. “It’s not too late. If you don’t want to go to your parents’ house, find a motel somewhere, anywhere, just so long as it’s away from here. I’ll have this taken care of in a day or two.” I hoped. “And answer your cell if I call-I’ll let you know when it’s over.” She nodded, resigned.

“Okay.”

Lou ran up to her, put his paws on her knee, and wagged his tail in an exaggerated manner. It was his way of reassuring her, and it worked. He can be a thoughtful guy. She didn’t smile, but the muscles around her eyes relaxed. I got up and walked to the door.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “It will all be over soon.” It wasn’t until I’d left that I realized that statement could be taken more than one way.

I THOUGHT THE SUPPOSED WENDIGO MIGHT BE waiting for me by my van, but no. At least that gave me breathing space. There was some more information I wanted to get before tackling him, and I knew just where to get it.

Twenty minutes later I was back at Ramsey’s apartment. The little creep had suckered us. He’d even made me feel a little sorry for him. But the one thing that had put me on Morgan’s trail, the thing that was too weird for coincidence and made me so quick to accept what the Wendigo said, was that little story of his about Ruby and sex and the odd trill. Why wouldn’t I have believed it? How else could he have come up with such a thing unless it was true? Unless he’d heard Morgan that night she spent at my house. Like if he’d been crouched outside my bedroom window, leaving only traces in the dirt to mark where he’d been.

He hadn’t just been in league with just the Ruby shape-shifter-he was in tight with the other shape-shifter as well. So, time for a visit.

I strolled around back of the Victorian to his door and politely knocked. No answer, but when I knocked again, louder, I heard movement from inside. Ramsey answered the door, bleary-eyed from sleep. Either he’d been up all night the night before or he routinely slept into the late afternoon every chance he got, or both.

“Mason,” he said. His tone was wary, but not fearful. Not yet.

“Ramsey. Invite me in, why don’t you?” He didn’t want to, but he was afraid not to.

“Sure,” he said, stepping aside. “Come on in.” Lou slipped in ahead and Ramsey peered around me, trying to see if I was alone.

“Victor’s not with me this time,” I said.

“Thank God for small favors,” he muttered, then looked nervously over at me as if he might have gone too far. I stared him down until he started getting ill at ease.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he said, false hearty, trying to make a joke out of it. He wasn’t very good at that sort of thing. I ignored him and walked the few steps it took to reach the kitchen area. I glanced down and saw that same piece of bacon from our last visit still curled up on a corner of the floor.

Ramsey had edged back and now was standing between me and the door, as if guarding against my retreat. Alarm bells went off. He should have wanted me out of his apartment, not in it. Which meant, quite possibly, that he wasn’t alone. Lou’s warning growl almost covered up the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. When I looked up I saw who it was.

For a moment I stood paralyzed. It was one of those situations so unexpected, so wrong, that your entire world turns upside down. The universe suddenly makes no sense. It couldn’t be. The room hummed as blood rushed into my head. Gliding down the stairs, smiling sweetly and relishing my surprise, was Morgan. Or maybe it was the smile of a gourmet about to embark on a particularly tasty meal. I almost let her get right up next to me, stunned as I was. Which was the point of her little deception, and it almost worked.