“I am hopeful that you can help us, fine sir.” Jude offered the old man his most charming smile. “Do you have any thoughts on the kind of supplies one might need if one were hoping to spend some time in beautiful Sierra Glades National Park?”

“You’re Cady Bennett’s kids, aren’t you?” The old man met Jude’s question with a question. “Your mother was one of my best customers when she was growing up. If you asked her about supplies, I imagine she’d tell you that it depends on where you plan on heading. The Glades has nearly as many ecosystems as it has trees.”

Near the door, Silver watched the old man for a moment, then settled down, laying her head on her front paws. I took that to mean that she’d decided that if push came to shove, we could take him.

“Some folks head out to the mountains,” the shopkeeper continued, leaning forward, his elbows on the counter. “Others prefer the canyons or the foothills or making their way along one of the purest, cleanest rivers in the country.”

I edged farther into the store, keeping half an ear on the shopkeeper and waiting for Jude to cut to the chase. A glass display case caught my attention. Inside, I counted a dozen knives. As the old man rattled off something about ancient forests and three-hundred-foot-tall trees, I couldn’t help thinking that the blades in the case looked lifeless.

No matter how sharp its edges, no knife could hold a candle to fang and claw.

“Have you lived here long?” Jude fed the shopkeeper another easy question, and I continued my circuit through the shop. The next case over held guns. Rifle. Hunting rifle. A tinny taste rose in the back of my mouth. By the door, Silver lifted her head slightly, knowing brown eyes meeting mine.

I’m fine, I told her silently. It’s nothing. It’s just a gun.

So why were the hairs on the back of my neck standing straight up?

“It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” The shopkeeper came out from behind the counter, and the muscles in my legs and torso instinctively tightened. “I probably don’t need to tell you kids that Bales Bennett is the best shot on this side of the mountain.”

“Tell,” Jude encouraged him. “Tell like the wind.”

I tried to push down the rush of red-tinged anger rising up inside me, the one that said that guns were cheating.

They were death.

“Word is that Bales is former military—either intelligence or special forces, depending on which set of rumors you believe.” The old man winked at me. “He retired when his wife died and moved up here when Cady was a bitty thing.”

I couldn’t make myself turn my back on the gun case. But I did make myself speak. “You knew Cady when she was a kid?”