“You aren’t a werewolf,” said Jitka positively, and not for the first time.

“There are supposed to be other kinds of shapeshifters.” Martin’s voice was hushed. “I’ve read stories. Weretigers. Dragons. That sort of thing.”

“If you are expecting a dragon, you’re going to be disappointed,” I told him.

And I changed into my coyote shape. When I was a teenager, I changed back and forth in front of a mirror, trying to see what it looked like. But one of the things that changes dramatically for me while shifting is my vision, so things get blurry. I’ve never seen much, but Adam told me there isn’t a lot to see—one moment I’m human, the next a coyote.

I might not get to see myself change, but I’d seen a lot of werewolf changes, and I’m very glad that mine is both quick and painless.

Martin’s jaw dropped open.

“What are you?” Jitka asked. “Some sort of dog?”

I flattened my ears at her and gave an impatient yip.

“You aren’t a wolf,” said Martin. “Something native to the US?”

“Coyote?” Jitka said. “Like in the cartoons with the Road Runner.”

I let my ears pop back up and smiled at them both.

“Well.” Jitka dragged the word out as she inspected me. “I thought coyotes were bigger.”

“Maybe roadrunners are smaller,” speculated Martin. “I guess the question is, how is your sense of smell?”

I yipped once, put my nose to the ground, and began casting about.

Scent trails are something that training makes better. The real trouble I’ve always had is that the information my canine nose gives me is overwhelming. When I was a teenager, Charles spent a lot of time and effort teaching me how to sort things out. I’d gotten a good sniff of our attackers, but the scent of the woman I’d killed with the scythe was strongest in my memory, so I focused on her.

I caught her scent right away, but I didn’t start following immediately. I let my mind relax and walked back and forth for a while until I was sure that I’d found the freshest scent. It was the one with a hint of absinthe, as though she’d been intimate with someone who was drinking or maybe someone spilled some on her. Maybe she’d been drinking it herself, though that was fairly unusual for vampires.

In any case, the absinthe edge distinguished that trail from all the others. It was the trail that contained the most nuanced complex of odors, which meant it was freshest, because those fade with time.

She had used the steps instead of the elevator. I focused on my prey and let the werewolves take care of keeping up with me.

9

Mercy

I seemed to be spending a lot of time wandering the streets of Prague at night. Not the best way to see Prague, but at least we weren’t running into very many tourists.