“You will tell me how much I owe you over and above my son’s last check.”

Gabriel made a protesting sound.

She glanced at him, and he bit back whatever he intended to say, his eyes suspiciously bright.

“My son thinks that because he is almost a man, he can make his own decisions. As long as he lives in my house, that is not true.”

I was pretty sure that Gabriel could go off and do all right on his own—but that without his extra income, Sylvia would be hard-pressed to feed their family. Gabriel knew it, too.

“Gabriel,” I told him, “I have to let you go. Your mother is right. My office isn’t a safe place to work. If your mother were not involved, you still wouldn’t have a job here anymore. I’ll mail you your last check. When you are looking for work, you can tell them to call me for a recommendation.”

“Mercy,” he said, his face white and stark.

“I couldn’t have lived with myself if something had happened to you or one of your sisters today,” I told him.

“Oh, poor Mercy,” said Sylvia with false sympathy, her English getting worse. “Poor Mercy, her life it is too dangerous, and she would feel bad if my son were hurt.” She pointed her finger at me. “It is not just this. If it were only the gunman, then I would say—no, Gabriel you cannot work here anymore—but we are friends, still. But you lied to me. I say, What is this great big dog? You tell me, Perhaps some mixed breed. You made this decision, to let my daughter play with a werewolf. You did not tell me what he was. You made such a choice about my children’s welfare. Do not call at my house. Do not talk to my children on the street, or I will call the police.”

“Mamá,” said Gabriel. “You’re over the top.”

“No,” I told him wearily. “She’s right.” I’d known that I made the wrong choice the moment I heard Maia’s first cry. It hadn’t been Sam—but it might have been. That I’d been sure it was him right up until the moment I saw Kelly Heart with his gun told me that I’d made the wrong choice. I’d endangered Sylvia’s children.

“Zee, would you back her car out of the garage, please?” He bowed his head and turned on his heel. I couldn’t tell if he was angry with me, too, or not. Of course, I was pretty sure he had no idea how much of a risk I’d taken. He wasn’t a wolf, hadn’t lived with the wolves; he wouldn’t know what Sam was.

“Mercy,” said Gabriel, helplessly.

“Go,” I told him. I’d have hugged him, but I thought we’d both cry. I could deal, but Gabriel was seventeen and the man of his family. “Vaya con Dios.” See, I do know a little Spanish.

“And you also,” he said formally.

And his sister started wailing again. “I want my puppy,” she cried.