“Point taken.” Jen cocked her head at me. “Um, speaking of secretive, Miss Johanssen . . . ?”

“What?” I flushed. Jen folded her arms. “Okay, look . . .” I glanced around, half hoping for a timely manifestation. Unfortunately, the scene in the park was the very picture of a charming small-town harvest festival. If it weren’t for Sheila Reston’s neck tattoo, it could have been a Norman Rockwell painting. Since everything was quiet on the Western Front, maybe it was finally time for me to spill the beans. “It’s complicated.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Remember the day the Tall Man’s remains went missing?” I said in a low voice. “Well, Cody and I sort of hooked up that morning.”

“Sort of?”

“Sort of as in totally,” I admitted. “And one other time. After the ghost uprising at the old hospital.”

“Wow.” Jen let out a long breath. “How was it?”

“Intense.” I shivered, my tail twitching involuntarily. “Especially the first time. He was still a little . . . wolfy.” There was a look on Jen’s face I couldn’t quite decipher, a look that said she was suddenly seeing me as a someone unfamiliar. “Look, don’t say anything to anyone about it, okay?”

The look turned to indignation. “Duh. So?”

“So . . . nothing,” I said ruefully. “I mean, we’re still not the same freakin’ species. Like I said—”

“It’s complicated,” Jen finished. “So that’s it?”

“Not exactly.” I looked around again to confirm that no one was in earshot. “Yesterday, Stefan kissed me.”

Her eyes widened. “No shit! The hot ghoul?”

“Uh-huh.”

She glanced toward Rafe, sitting motionless on his motorcycle. “Is that him up there now?”

“No,” I said. “That’s one of his lieutenants.”

“Okay.” Her gaze returned to me. “So?”

“I don’t know, Jen,” I said honestly. “Any of it. I don’t know what to think about or even how to think about it, let alone talk about it. Any of it. All of it. Either of them.” My tail began lashing with the pent-up agitation I’d been suppressing for days. “And I feel like with Halloween barreling down on us and Grandpa Morgan’s duppy out there, I’ve barely had time to breathe—”

Across the park, a beer keg blew a gasket and my mom sent an inquiring look in my direction. “Whoa, whoa!” Jen grabbed my arms. “Daise, chill.”

With an effort, I chilled. “Sorry.”

“No, my bad.” She let go of me. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“It’s okay.” I gave my mother an apologetic wave. She nodded and returned to duct-taping down plastic sheeting on the table for the pie-eating contest. Up on the rise at the other end, Rafe was pointing at me, his helmeted head cocked in a questioning manner. Great, so he’d felt it, too. When I waved him off, he settled back into a watchful pose astride his bike.