“Yeah, well.” He shrugged, thin shoulders rising and dropping. “Fat chance. What are you going to do, anyway?”

I cast another longing look at the ammo crate and picked up my backpack. The glare of snow outside made the bare walls even whiter, the bullet holes next to Graves standing out in sharp relief. “I’m going to make a phone call.”

“Who you calling? Ghostbusters?”

I suppose you had to make that joke sooner or later. I mentally reviewed everything in my backpack, ran over how much money I had again. “I don’t know yet.”

“You don’t know who you’re calling?” His unibrow peaked on either side, forehead wrinkling as he mulled this over. “Jesus.”

“Look, I’ve been doing this most of my life. I can do without the editorial.” I thought about it for a few more moments, then strode over to the smaller weapons crate and dug for a few seconds, coming up with a switchblade. I pressed the button and was rewarded with a snick! as the suicide spring unleashed the stiletto. I studied the silver coating along the flat.

Silver doesn’t belong on the edge where it can be sharpened off. If you load a blade along the flat, it might disturb the balance, but it stops a lot of things cold. And I could explain a military-surplus stiletto-style switchblade a lot easier than a firearm. I was pretty sure I could even talk myself out of getting detained if all I had on me was a blade.

I pressed the button and used the top of the weapons crate to close the knife, stuffed it in my jacket pocket.

Graves shrugged and peeled himself away from the wall. “I’m going with you.”

“Look—” But he was already gone. I heard him take the stairs two at a time and guessed he was heading for his coat.

What could I say? He’d already been bitten. Once the Real World gets its teeth in you, it’s hard to go back to nine-to-five and Happy Meals.

And . . . well, I listened to him moving around upstairs and could almost pretend he was Dad.

My conscience pinched me, hard, right in the middle of my chest. Dru, you can’t let him in on this. He’s already been banged around and bitten. He might get worse if he gets mixed up further.

But I was a kid too, and on my own. I wanted some help and he was looking like the best help I was going to get.

It wasn’t fair.

But I’d gotten him bit—I wasn’t naïve enough to think the burning dog and the werwulf had just been in the neighborhood and wanted an Orange Julius after closing hours. Not with something tapping at my door before dawn, too. Something the blue lines of Gran’s warding—which seemed much stronger now than ever before—had sat up and taken notice of.

It wouldn’t be decent of me to drag him along any further. He’d just end up getting hurt—he didn’t have any experience at all.

I swallowed, hard. Slid my bag’s strap over my head, pulled on a stocking cap, and yanked my gloves on. It looked bastard cold out there. When I stepped out the front door the air was like a dry suckerpunch to the lungs; I gasped and started shivering immediately, hunching my shoulders and wrapping a scratchy wool Army-surplus scarf around my neck. Jesus. This isn’t people weather. It’s Popsicle weather.

I was fairly sure Graves would lock up on his way out, so I crunched carefully down the porch steps. I was miserably unsurprised to see the snow in the front yard was still pristine. Whatever had knocked at the front door hadn’t left any footprints.

Great.

I was already caked with snow up to my knees by the time I made it onto the street. The plows had come by again that morning, so the going was treacherous but not impossible. Dru Anderson, Fearless Teen Hunter of the Weird, slipping and sliding on crusted ice. But Jesus, if I had to stay home I’d start chewing on the walls.

And who was to say that something wouldn’t come back once the sun went down, and bring someone with it that the warding wouldn’t stop? My best chance was to try to make contact with someone now.

“Dru!” Graves yelled.

I didn’t hunch my shoulders, just kept going. My boots had some good traction, but I couldn’t go faster than a sort of skating crawl.

“Dru! Wait up!”

Kept going. Once I hit the cross-street I could hook down and get to the bus shelter, and hopefully the buses were still running on time. Maybe he’d get tired of yelling once I made it clear I wasn’t listening.

Crunching sounded behind me, a fast light patter that sounded wrong. Then Graves all but plowed into me from behind, grabbed my shoulder, and we almost went down in a heap on the frozen roadway. I grabbed at his wrist, locked it, and found some solid footing, almost spinning him in a half-circle before he jerked his arm away much harder than he should have been able to.

I stared at him; he stared at me. His mouth was half-open, short light breaths puffing vapor into the chill. His cheeks were already raw and reddened, and his hair was even wilder than usual, almost standing straight up and spitting sparks. The effect was startling. He looked like a cat rubbed the wrong way with a balloon.

“Jesus,” I gasped. “What the hell?”

“I’m going with you,” he announced. Like I was stupid. “For Christ’s sake, Dru.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed. And maybe get me killed too. Let go!” And Jesus, how did you run like that? A nasty supposition halfway rose in the back of my head, but I killed it. I had enough problems. I yanked my arm free.

He set his jaw stubbornly, and the breeze turned knife-sharp. My hair felt like it was freezing to my head, and the layers I was wearing weren’t helping as much as I’d thought they would inside the house.

“You got me into this.” His hand dropped to his side, and he squared his shoulders. “I got bit by something that shouldn’t be real. None of this should be fucking real. And you’re telling me to be a good little boy and run along home. No dice. I told you the first one’s free, Dru, but this ain’t the first one. This one you’re paying for, and you’re taking me with you. You owe me.”

“I don’t owe you anything.” I knew it wasn’t true even as I said it. If I hadn’t been hiding in the goddamn mall, would the burning dog-thing have come to the house? Good luck getting the thing off my back then. He’d saved my life—and even if he didn’t know it because he was a babe in the woods, I did.

Andersons pay their debts, Dad always said. And quick, before they mount up.

But what about the thing knocking on the front door? Someone knew where I lived now.

Someone—or something.

My stomach turned hard and sour. Graves stared at me like he was trying to will a hole in my forehead. Little ice crystals touched his hair, and his cheeks weren’t just red now, but flaming. We were both shivering.

He didn’t even have a scarf. For a native of this place, he seemed woefully unprepared.

I didn’t even know what to do; I was just making it up halfass as I went along. “My dad is dead.” The tone I used—flat, normal, as if I was talking about dinner—surprised me. Snow muffled the words; they plopped down exhausted as soon as they left my lips. “I’m sorry I got you into this. Do me a favor and go home so you don’t get any further in.”

“Hey, I don’t know if you noticed, but I don’t have a picket fence and fireplace to go back to. I’m on my own like you are, and for longer, too.” He hunched his shoulders, already looking miserably cold. “I could’ve just left you sitting there in the mall. I got involved because I wanted to, and now I’m in it. So can we get moving before I freeze to death, or is that too much to ask?”

I took a step back, found my footing, and turned. Headed off down the street. Some of the neighbors had cleared their sidewalks, but most of them hadn’t bothered. The gutters were mounded with snowplow ick.