Free Feral Nights by Cynthia Leitich Smith

him.”
    “What if he was lying?” I reply. “We don’t even know if he’s really a priest.”
    She has a point, though. I’ve got to watch out for my flight instinct. It’s stronger in Cats than most werepredators. If I realized earlier that Ruby’s home invaders were a guy dressed like a priest and an overgrown kid, I might’ve taken a chance on them.
    The Enlightenment Alley storefront is not on an alley. It is a gleaming kaleidoscope of colors. Crystals hang from almost-invisible wires behind the glass, reflecting sunlight in a dizzying rainbow array.
    Inside, I’m hit hard by the aroma of smudge and scented candles, the gurgle of dozens of wall and tabletop fountains.
    “This is a gift shop?” I mutter.
    “A New Age gift shop,” Aimee explains.
    I note the wind chimes. The political bumper stickers. The poster celebrating endangered animals. Handmade signs point to “After Solstice Sale” items. I identify tiny speakers mounted in the corners of the ceiling as the source of croaking, chirping, and rustling noises. Confirming that they’re artificial helps squash my urge to give chase.
    “Groovy,” I reply. It’s the word Grams would use.
    I shoot a glance at the balding guy in the nearest plush chair. He’s reading up on Hinduism. Or what passes for Hinduism in a place like this.
    Aimee gently elbows me in the ribs. “My mom and I come here all the time.”
    The bookshelf labels include: HARMONY , COURAGE , ALTERNATIVE MEDICINE , NATURAL HEALING , SPIRITUAL , PSYCHIC POWER , YOGA , MASSAGE , ASTROLOGY , and PERSONAL GROWTH .
    “Seriously?” I ask, pointing to the UFO section.
    “You might try being more open-minded,” Aimee suggests. “There was a time when most people thought shape-shifters were mythological.”
    I hold up Massage for Lovers. “Redundant, don’t you think?”
    Aimee blushes to her blond roots. She’s definitely a virgin.
    I haven’t considered before that a human could be knowingly attracted to a shifter as more than an exotic or in a fetish kind of way. But Aimee was, if not in love, then at least in like with the deceased Armadillo prince.
    Plus, a Dillo? A beady-eyed, thick-bodied werearmadillo ? She’s not a superficial girl, and superficial romances are the only kind I’ve ever had.
    Aimee skims the spines on the “Angels” shelf.
    “What?” she demands. “You’re staring.”
    I can’t help myself. “Do you really believe in this stuff?” I ask. “Are you all that religious?”
    Her smile is oddly serene. “More like spiritual, but I know what I know.”
    I follow her across the store. The clerk is costumed like some kind of priestess, complete with gray lipstick and a flowing silver hooded cloak.
    “Talk about living the cliché,” I whisper.
    She recognizes Aimee as a regular. “Welcome back!”
    “You look positively folkloric!” Aimee exclaims as we reach the jewelry case.
    “Thank you, thank you!” the clerk replies, stepping back to spin for inspection. She has long snow-white hair. “I’m playing the White Witch this season in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe at the children’s theater.”
    That’ll teach me not to make assumptions.
    The clerk hands Aimee a promotional flyer. “This afternoon will be our last performance. How was your holiday? How’s your mama?”
    Aimee introduces her as Sandra. They visit a while, and I’m getting impatient when Aimee asks, “Is Paxton around?”
    “Paxton Senior and the missus are out of the country,” Sandra replies. “Shopping their way through Dubai. Paxton Junior is working days over winter break in the mail room at the law firm and . . .” She glances past us. “Excuse me a sec.”
    Sandra comes around the counter to assist a customer.
    A framed certificate hangs on the wall. It proclaims Sandra an honors graduate of a taxidermy school. That doesn’t seem to fit with her image, but this is Texas. Probably even earth mothers hunt here. “Ask her about Ruby,” I