“I’ll wait on the steps.” He cocked his head, listening. “Dell’s worried about you. She’s on her way over. I’ll head her off and explain things unless…” His thumb smoothed a crease in my jeans. “Do you want me to go? She could hang out with you.”

“No.” I winced at the volume of my voice. “Dell is great, but I don’t want to see her tonight.” I would have set a hand on his shoulder if both mine weren’t still half-changed. I need you, was what I meant to say. What came out was, “Please, don’t go.”

“Okay. I’ll give her an update and send her home.” He gave my upper thighs a reassuring squeeze. “Call if you need me.”

I ducked my head in a halfhearted nod and listened as he exited the trailer and shut the door behind him. The knob barely had time to click before I heard muffled voices pitched low in an earnest discussion.

Gripping the medical supplies in an awkward hold, I shuffled toward the bathroom and put things back in their place. There was no room for clutter, and I didn’t want a mess to clean up later. Figuring this was as good a place as any, I nudged the door closed to give me room, lowered the lid on the toilet and sat.

With a moment to myself, I studied the fur covering my arms. The coloration mystified me. Gemini mimic that which already exists—we don’t alter it beyond the changes required to adapt a borrowed talent to our bodies. There was no reason why I didn’t share Graeson’s sterling silver pelt down to the hair.

Isaac might know, and if he didn’t, Aunt Dot would.

“Enough procrastinating,” I chided myself, the faint echo a lonely contrast to the conversation happening outside.

Cupping my elbows with my palms, I hugged myself and cracked open the lid on my memories. The deeper they cut, the better. The more agonizing the recollection, the less physical pain the change wrought from me. But instead of the beach of my nightmares, I found myself remembering those summer trips to the Great Smoky Mountains, comparing those forests and mountains to these.

A ripple of magic slipped over my skin, and I submersed myself deeper in the past.

One of Lori’s favorite places had been a tiered waterfall hidden from the trails. The hike had left our short legs burning, and we whined every step of the way. Dad was ready to turn back, but Mom spun the endless trek into a game to see which of us could collect the most oak leaves. Each had to be fallen—no picking them off the limbs—and there could be no tears or holes or spotting. Soon we carried armfuls of leaves we flung at each other as we ran. By the time we stumbled upon the falls, we were all smiles.