Woody shook his shaggy head. “Tates were … hiding me,” he explained. “I’m being hunted.”

“But why? Who …?” asked Nat, eyes wide.

“Very Bad People,” said the boy darkly.

Nat looked impressed. “Should I still call you Woody?” he asked.

The boy shrugged. “Don’t care … just want to stay.”

Smuggling Woody up the two flights of stairs to Nat’s bedroom was not as easy as Nat thought it would be. The loud honking sounds from Mick and Apple’s room made Woody clutch Nat’s arm in fright.

“What’s that?” he whispered, his eyes gleaming gold.

“My grandparents.” Nat grinned.

Woody exploded into a fit of strange noises. Nat looked at him in alarm, then realized Woody was laughing. He hastily ushered Woody up the remaining stairs, frightened to death that they’d wake everyone up. The full impact of what had happened hit him like an express train. This is crazy, he thought. Is it really happening, or am I truly losing it?

In the loft bedroom, Woody was overcome with curiosity. Nat had given him a pair of shorts to replace his striped blanket, and now Woody was bounding around the room like an excited puppy.

“Telly!” he exclaimed, and shot over to the old TV Nat had brought with him from London. “Yours?”

Nat grinned. “It’s nothing special; we don’t have satellite or anything fancy.”

Woody busied himself sniffing in all the corners and under Nat’s bed. He was ecstatic at Nat’s collection of Star Wars figures, picking each one up and sniffing it carefully. Nat watched, bemused, noticing that Woody could easily pass for a human, except when his eyes flashed the brilliant gold colors that seemed to mean he was excited or upset. Privately, Nat thought that Woody’s weirdly chopped, pale blond hair needed immediate attention, and the unibrow wasn’t a good look, either.

“How old are you?” he asked Woody curiously.

“Same as you,” replied Woody, who was still busy exploring.

Nat felt his world wobble again. Oh, no, that couldn’t be right! If Woody had been a pup when he arrived at the Tates’, it didn’t make sense. He was sure Mr. Tate had told them that Woody was three years old.

“You look about the same age as me,” said Nat doubtfully. “That would make you almost thirteen. But that can’t be right!”

Woody stopped and thought for a minute. “‘S’right,” he assured Nat. “Wolven reach adult ess … essence in first three years. One year Wolven is the same as four years human.”

Nat smiled weakly. “Wolven reach adolescence in their first three years?”

“Sure do,” Woody replied with an American twang. “‘Phelia Tate said so.”

Oh, wow! thought Nat. This is getting wilder and wilder.

“So how d’you learn stuff?” asked Nat curiously. “Did you go to school or have a private tutor or …?”

Woody looked surprised. “Telly and telepathy. Better than school.”