“Again,” the larger man said, loping off, “don’t make me puke. Company coming.”

“Yes, I—” He nearly fell down, right there in the alley. “I know.”

“Jeez,” the girl said, coming closer. She glanced over her shoulder at the rapidly retreating Wade and then turned and glared at the unconscious gang. “You gigantic losers!”

Everything was suddenly very bright, very sharp. The exhalations of the would-be attackers, Wade’s retreating footsteps, the girl’s perfume—L’Occitane Green Tea.

He could see her.

Not sense her, not get an idea of where she was and how she felt by her voice. See her. Everything around her was shades of gray, but she stood out like a beacon.

She was tall, for a woman—her jaw was up to his shoulder. And her hair was that light, sunny color he assumed people meant when they said blond. Her eyes were an odd color…not blue like ice was blue, and not purple like people had described irises…somewhere in between.

Her hair was brutally short and so were her nails. She was wearing six earrings in her left ear and eight in her right. She had a nose ring and a hoop through her left eyebrow, and her shirt was short enough to show off her belly button ring. Her stomach was sweetly rounded, and she was wearing shorts so brief they were practically denim panties. Her black tights were strategically ripped, showing flashes of creamy skin. Her tennis shoes (what color was that? red? orange?) were loosely tied with laces that weren’t any color at all.

“Are you all right, guy? I’m really sorry if they tried anything. I told them to cut the shit. I didn’t think they, y’know, meant it.”

He gaped at her.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, glancing at the cane. “I didn’t realize. Do you need me to walk you somewhere? Did they hurt you?”

“I can see you!”

“Ooooookey-dokey.” She took a cautious step backward. “Listen, I’ve got stuff to do tonight—last chance. D’you need me to call you a cab or something?”

“Holy Mary Mother of God!”

“So no. Well, ’bye.” She turned, and, frozen, he watched her walk away. Her butt was flat, and she hitched up her shorts, which gaped around her waist. He couldn’t begin to imagine her age—twenty-two? twenty-five? He had at least fifteen years on her.

He heard a crack and dropped the cane—he’d been gripping it too hard and it had split down the middle. Why could he see her? Why now? Was it a function of the full moon? If so, why hadn’t it ever happened before? Who was she? And where was she going in such a hurry?

The clouds skudded past the moon, and suddenly it felt like he had twice as many teeth.

Chapter 3