Page 76 of Quest of the Wolf

“Didn’t you do recitals in front of an audience?” I asked Bolin. “You said something about singing at church too.”

“Yes. I don’t have stage fright. It’s… something else.”

Girl fright. I didn’t say that out loud.

“He’s still heading north,” Bolin said. “He’s already past Lake Stevens.”

“Does it look like he’s paralleling Highway Nine?” I wondered which of the addresses on the list Radomir was staying at.

It was hard to imagine him and his thugs living in the windowless mushroom building outside of Deming, and we hadn’t seen evidence of another residence. That was the only address that had been that far north though.

“For now, yes.”

“Good. We’ll be there soon.” I clenched the wheel, annoyed that we’d entered a more populated area, and I had to slow for traffic. And was that alightahead? I cursed.Duncandidn’t have to deal with this.

The image of a bipedfuris stopping because a red traffic light dangled from a tree branch deep in the woods only briefly amused me. Mostly, I bared my teeth in frustration.

“Didn’t your mom ever tell you that your face will get stuck like that if you hold that pissed-off expression?” Jasmine asked lightly, though she eyed me with concern.

Maybe my driving was alarming my passengers. The light turned green, and I forced myself to loosen my grip on the wheel.

“No,” I replied. “As a good werewolf, my mother encouraged fearsome expressions. To scare one’s enemies.”

“That was less fearsome and more I-can-barely-hold-my-pee-any-longer.”

“That disturbs enemies too.”

“Especially when you’re in their lair?”

“Absolutely.”

Finally, we turned onto the highway. I floored it.

“Are you worried about the police at all?” Bolin had taken his violin out of its case, but that didn’t keep him from creeping close enough to eye the dashboard.

“Yeah, but not for speeding.” I didn’t mention the previous night’s debacle.

Bolin slid his phone, the map with the GPS tracker locationopen on it, into a holder that Duncan had attached to the dash. I could see the dot moving, still paralleling the highway, though it was much farther north than we were. Before long, Duncan would be even with that mushroom farm.

“You’d better play something soothing,” Jasmine told Bolin, probably noting my expression again.

“I was thinking of ‘Ride of the Valkyries.’”

“Maybe save that for right before the storming,” she said. “I’m prescribing relaxing and mellow music.”

Even focused on the road, I saw Bolin’s grimace. Maybe twenty-something guys didn’t do mellow.

“I had to play ‘The Lark Ascending’ for a recital once. It’s sleepy, boring, and fifteen minutes long. Not only did it threaten to put me into a coma, but it was so long that the grandpas in the back row kept leaving to go to the bathroom.”

“We don’t want a song that encourages that. Not until we’re in the villain’s lair.” Jasmine smirked at me.

“Funny.” I shot her a glare, then said, “Play the Valkyrie thing.”

“Okay.”

Reminded of Bolin’s original reason for bringing his violin, I added, “Or rap. My niece likes rap.”

“Oh, really?” he asked as if that were new information.

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