“Can’t you just draw it or something?”

“Succubus.”

“Well, I don’t know! But if you want to do sleuthing, you’re going to have to find a workaround. Until I feel like traipsing around the city with you, I want the picture to stay with me.”

He glowered, looking very much like his usual bitter self. Finally, realizing I wasn’t going to yield, he did a hasty trace of the medallion onto another sheet of paper. He added a few notes off to the side and did his best approximation of the symbols. He seemed miserable the entire time.

“Sorry,” I said.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“You’re going now?”

“If you think you’ll be okay.”

I assured him I would be. My phone was nearby, and I had a feeling if he stayed, he’d just grow more and more upset about how he’d let me down and about how I was putting myself at risk for reasons he didn’t understand. At least this gave him a feeling of purpose. I promised to call if something happened and breathed a sigh of relief when he finally left.

I stayed in bed for a while after that, consuming my calorie-laden breakfast and thinking about his extreme reaction. I hoped he’d find something out for me, and in the meantime, I needed to do some investigating of my own. First things first, though. I needed to shower.

It turned out to be harder than I expected—but not impossible. I just had to move slowly when I walked to the bathroom, careful not to get too ambitious. Hugh’s bandages still covered my back, and it took a fair bit of dexterity to remove them. They were soaked with blood, but underneath, the cuts showed signs of Mei’s healing. They were still there, still uncomfortable, but had all scabbed over and were much smaller. I kept the water lukewarm as I showered and was careful when I toweled off to not break any of the scabs open.

By the time I was sitting on my couch in the living room, I felt like I’d run a marathon. I’d never wanted shape-shifting so badly in my life. I wore loose clothes—drawstring pants and a T-shirt without a bra—but it had taken some effort to put them on. My hair I’d given up on completely, figuring combing it out would have to do. I didn’t have the patience to dry it and didn’t want to think about the frizziness I was inviting.

Aubrey joined me on the couch as I rested from my morning labors and flipped through the channels. After cycling through twice, I gave up and left the TV on some sort of nature show about Siberian tigers. Aubrey watched it with wide eyes, but I wasn’t interested.

“This is your equivalent of reality television,” I observed.