I wrote a check for nine hundred and sixty-two dollars, which left exactly four hundred dollars and nine cents in my checking account. I had five hundred in savings to use in case of emergency. If more money didn’t come my way soon, I’d have to consider a change of venue.

I handed him the check. He didn’t bother looking at it.

“Let me know how it turns out,” he said with his customary smile.

“You’ll be the first to hear.”

“And Kate? If you change your mind about my latest prototype, the offer still stands.”

The piercing blue eyes and enormous muscles flashed before my mind’s eye. That way lay dragons. “Thanks, but it isn’t likely.”

As I strode out of the apartment, I decided that I didn’t like the tint of smile playing on Saiman’s lips.

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 4

I AWOKE IN GREG’S APARTMENT CLOSE TO SEVEN and reached for the phone. Dialing Jim’s number resulted in three rings, a click, and a beep of the answering machine without any forewarning message. I left a laconic “call me” and hung up. He would be none too pleased. The morning after a night of hunting was the time for serene contemplation, as sacred to the shapeshifters as meditation to a Shaolin monk. Caught between Man and Beast, the shapechangers sought complete control over each and so they met the sunrise looking inward. Their moment of self-reflection completed, they succumbed to peaceful sleep. I had little doubt that Jim had hunted last night in the Unicorn. He was likely to be asleep already, and the machine would beep announcing the message until it drove him crazy. I smiled at the thought.

I stretched, working the kinks out of my shoulders and back. I kicked at the shadow on the wall, putting all I had into it but never touching my imaginary opponent. I cycled through some basic kicks, front snap, roundhouse, thrust, finishing with more elaborate forms. After ten minutes I broke a sweat and pushed on for another twenty, working mostly on strength in my arms, shoulders, and chest. Greg did not own weights so I used a heavy lead-filled mace instead of a dumbbell. It was poorly balanced but it was better than nothing.

I had not lifted for a few days and I felt weaker than usual. Still, the controlled, determined exertion felt good and my mood improved gradually, so by the time the shower started calling to me, I was almost upbeat.

The phone rang just as my hand touched the bathroom door. I did a 180, expecting Jim on the line.

“Jim?”

“Hello,” said a male voice. It was a pleasant voice, well modulated and clear. I’d heard it before, but it took me a minute to remember where.

“Dr. . . . Crane?”

“Crest.”

Yes, the toothpaste-named charity worker. How the hell did he get my number? “Can I help you?”