Grabbing my arm, he pulled me into the fudge store. Feet stumbling, I followed him in, breathing deeply of the rich scent of chocolate. There was a small line at the counter, but Jenks plowed to the front of it amid a chorus of indignant protest. “Pardon, me. ’Scuse us,” he said, flipping the barrier up between the front and the back.

“Hey!” a large woman called out, her apron tied with the smartness of a uniform. “You can’t come back here!”

“Just passing through!” Jenks called cheerfully. The bags he held rattled, and letting go of my arm for a moment, he dipped a finger into the puddle of fudge cooling on a marble table. “Needs more almond,” he said, tasting it. “And you’re cooking it half a degree too long.”

The woman’s mouth opened in surprise, and he pushed past her and into the kitchen.

“There,” I said, and Jenks’s eyes shot to the back door, outlined by the boxes stacked around it. The security door was open to let the hot air of the kitchen escape through a normal-looking screen door. Beyond that were the employees’ cars in a nasty-looking alley, and beyond that, the main road. In the distance, the straits sparkled, looking as big as a lake.

“Ready?” Jenks asked.

I jerked my splat ball gun out of my bag. “Yup. Let’s go.”

“What the hell are you doing back here?” a masculine voice called.

I turned, and the man’s eyes went wide at my cherry-red gun, then he got nasty. “This is my place of business!” he shouted. “Not a paint ball stadium! Get out! Get out!”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, then bolted for the door when he shambled forward, hands reaching. Jenks and I dove through it, skittering into the alley in a surge of adrenaline. The bang of the heavy door slamming shut shot through me.

“Oh look, Jenks,” I said, as we slowed to get our bearings. “A dead-end alley.”

The wind was brisk, blowing up and against the back of the store, and with my blood humming and my steps quick, I started for the street and the cracked sidewalk beside it. It would take the Weres some time to work their way out and around to the back of the store unless they trashed the fudge shop. But I didn’t think they would. Like their supposedly distant wild brethren, Weres weren’t aggressive unless defending their own. But they were in a round, so who knew what they would do.

“Ivy,” I said breathlessly as we jogged to the road, knowing she could hear. “We’re outside between the mall and the—Shit!” I exploded, skittering to a halt when, in a sliding sound of gravel on pavement, a trio of Weres skidded around the corner.