Page 60 of Relics of the Wolf

“Suspicious? It’s a perfectly normal camping van, refurbished and improved since its original build in the nineties.”

“A perfectly normal camping van with tires big enough to roll over park benches.”

“And surly werewolves.”

“They did come in handy in that instance.” Technically, I hadn’t rolledoveranyone. But knocking whichever of my cousins that had been flying was possibly another reason they didn’t like me. “Maybe the police won’t check it. I don’t know what happens when a bunch of people are slain by wild animals in a suburban apartment complex. The authorities might not have a standard operating procedure for that.”

“The van’s interior is a little quirky, I’ll admit. If they search that, their interest in wanting to question me may intensify.”

“Do you have condemning equipment inside? Stuff more suspicious than magnets and SCUBA gear?”

Duncan hesitated, and I didn’t know if he was taking a mental inventory of the contents or he didn’t want to answer the question.

After a long moment, he admitted, “There are some underwater demolitions.”

“Demolitions? As inbombs?”

“Incendiary devices with explosive kinetic potential.” He sounded like Bolin giving one of his word origins.

“So, bombs.”

“Yes.”

I should have asked himwhyhe had bombs, especially since he left his van in my parking lot so often—I hoped they were professional-grade and not some unstable homemade version. Instead, influenced by my current predicament, I peered hopefully at his pockets. “Did you bring any along?”

Duncan looked over at me. Wondering if I seriously wanted some?

I didn’tusuallylong for weapons, but these were trying times.

He slid a hand into one bulging pocket, withdrew a metal sphere with a clip in the top, and offered it to me. By habit, I started to reach for it, like someone accepting a square of chocolate, but I froze.

“Is that…”

“An M67 fragmentation hand grenade, yes. I brought two with me. Just in case.”

I hadn’t truly expected him to have bombs—or grenades—in his pockets, but… who knew what we would face? They might come in handy.

“Uh, that’s all right. I’ve only seen them used on TV. I’d better stick to what’s in my pockets.”

“You brought weapons?”

I pulled out a half-consumed bar of dark chocolate. I’d needed a little fortification before leaving my apartment. It was fancy enough to be in a cardboard container in addition to the foil wrapper inside, so it wasn’t in danger of melting.

“That should make the bad guys quail.” Duncan returned the grenade to his pocket.

“If we fall down a well, we can survive on the extra calories.” I put the chocolate away, knuckles brushing the locket we’d found together. I’d been keeping that close since its magic had been helpful. “Are there grenades in your other pocket too?”

“That one has a small magnet on twine and a lock-picking kit.”

“By your standards, a small magnet is probably the size of my head.”

He slanted an amused look in my direction. “Yourheadwouldn’t fit in my pocket.”

“The size of a lemon?”

If he could fit two grenades in his pocket, he ought to be able to fit lemon-sized magnets in there.

“Amalfi Coast or Meyer?” Duncan asked.

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