“Werewolves,” I said, meaning to correct her; but Feng just nodded, as if I was asking just to make sure.
“We’ve been tracking and hunting for thousands of years.”
“And the bullets?”
“They’re specific to what we do.” Feng tapped the bullet. “The silver cuts through the fur and pierces the flesh—the only thing that will. Our bullets explode inside and launch an elephant-sized amount of tranquilizing poison. The dog just lies there until they bleed out.”
I was horrified, completely forgetting to hide it, until Will came up behind me and began massaging my clenched shoulders. He nuzzled my hair; his lips brushing my ear.
“Stay calm,” he whispered. And then, to Feng, “She’s just a bit jumpy, this one. Doesn’t like anything with fur. Had to toss her UGG boots in the rubbish bin. That was a terrible Christmas, wasn’t it, love?”
“So, do you have a werewolf problem?” Feng wanted to know.
“No, actually it was just a curiosity.”
I swallowed down the bile that lodged in the back of my throat. “Do you sell the bullets?”
“Yeah. Not too often, though. Occasionally people get worked up and start buying if there are dog sightings. Or we get an onslaught of buyers anytime a werewolf movie or Twilight comes out. Man”—Feng shook her head—“those Team Edward girls are ruthless.”
“Can you tell us who bought this bullet?”
Feng’s lips turned down. “Look, I’m really not in the business of advertising my client list.”
“There’s a whole list?” My voice was a hoarse whisper, betraying my discomfort.
“So, do you want to buy or what?”
“Yes. Yes, of course we do.” Will’s voice sounded a million miles away as my head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.
I squinted in the sunlight when we left Feng’s lair. Will clutched a paper bag full of werewolf-killing bullets; I stumbled with a numbness which started in my feet and went up to every follicle on my head.
“They’re werewolf hunters, Will.”
He took my hand and pulled me across the street. “I know that, love.”
“Do you think they had something to do with Sampson?” I asked.
“One crisis at a time.” Will hailed a cab and stuffed me in it, sliding in behind me.
I let out something halfway between a chuckle and a gasp. “One crisis at a time.”
“And we aren’t even a step closer to solving this one.”
“Well, actually ...” I unbuttoned my sweater and slid out the rubber-banded, handwritten wad of receipts that I filched from Feng’s countertop while she showed Will her selection of bullets.
Will stiffened; surprise registering all over his body. “You stole them?”
“I don’t suppose I could get away with saying I’m borrowing them, huh? Besides, the woman choked me. She owed us something.”
Will sat back, clearly looking pleased. “Looks like you’ve got a little bit of street cred, after all, love.”
I felt myself grin. Sophie Lawson, True-Life Badass.
“I just can’t believe you stole something from a woman who decorates with deadly weapons and tracks demons for a living.
My knees shook a little bit. Sophie Lawson: Badass, as Long as She Doesn’t Think About It.
Chapter Seventeen
I let myself into my apartment and was pleasantly surprised to find the only inhabitant was ChaCha, who did berserk circles around my ankles. She finally settled into a bowl of Alpo and I shrugged out of my clothes, took a hot shower, and oozed into some comfortable clothes. I popped a Lean Cuisine into the microwave and watched it spin, trying to keep my mind off Bettina, Kale, who had just been let out of the hospital, and what was going on in the Underworld.
I must have fallen asleep somewhere between my knockoff spicy chicken enchiladas and an Extreme Couponing marathon, because suddenly I was being shaken awake. I scrunched my eyes shut, and from far away I heard Nina’s assertive voice.
“Fine. If you’re going to play sleep, things are going to get rough.”
I felt fingers on the collar of my sweatshirt inching slowly toward the naked skin of my neck.
“Wake up, Sophie... .”
I thought that if I could just keep my eyes closed a little longer, then it would be a new day and this would all have been some terrible dream.
“I warned you... .”
Nina plunged both hands down the neck of my sweatshirt, pressing her palms and icy fingers against my once-warm skin. I jumped and howled and landed with a thud between the couch and the coffee table.
I glared at Nina, and she grinned at me, her fingers raised like six-shooters. She blew each pointed index finger and tucked them into imaginary holsters. “I warned you.”
I rolled my eyes and kicked the plastic enchilada tray onto the floor; ChaCha pounced on it with gusto. Nina beelined for her bedroom, a tiny tornado of slick black hair and flying couture. “We don’t have much time.”