Page 8 of Quest of the Wolf

“Which rappers?”

“I’m not sure. I can ask.”

“Would you? Like, gatherintelligencefor me?”

I hesitated, not certain it was my duty to help Bolin hook up with my niece, but he kept assisting me with my crazy life, and he was doing a good job keeping things running on the property when I was gone.

“Maybe a little.” I texted Jasmine, asking what music she wanted me to load to play in the truck the next time we stormed a castle. A prompt reply came back, and I showed Bolin.

“Kendrick Lamar, Eminem, Doja Cat, 50 Cent,” he read slowly.

“Do you know who any of those are?” I only did because of my sons. Probably a testament to how pathetically unhip I was, my tastes ran toward the eighties music I’d grown up with.

“Of course. I’m just… I need to think about how to use a violin to serenade a woman with rap beats. They’re not exactly…”

“Romantic?”

“Easy to recognize if you’re playing the beats on one instrument.”

“You’ll have to sing along.”

That earned me an aggrieved look.

“Canyou sing?” I asked.

“Of course. I was in my church choir all through high school.”

“You had a lot of extracurricular activities.”

“Learning music improves cognitive function in children. My mom insisted.”

“You’re a good son. I don’t know if Jasmine will fall for you, but I bet her parents would like you.” I watched the Sylvans walk out of the leasing office with a gray-haired man in a business suit. Instead of heading for the parking lot, they meandered down a walkway toward one of the buildings in the back. For a full tour?

“Don’t say things like that,” Bolin said. “No girl under thirty wants to date someone herparentsapprove of. They want to go out with guys who are edgy and rebellious.”

“You’d better start practicing your violin rap beats then.”

The rumble of a motorcycle made me spin toward the parking lot.

It wasn’t one of the big Harleys the thugs had ridden but a bright green Kawasaki dirt bike. Swept back in a man bun, the rider’s long green-dyed hair almost matched it. Wooden sticks stuck out of a holder on his back, and I imagined him applying them to car windows.

Scowling, I strode toward the parking lot. Even if I’d been fantasizing about trouble scaring off prospective buyers, I could not, in good conscience, want vandalism to take place.

The rider pulled into a spot meant for bicycles, parked, and hopped off the Kawasaki. He didn’t look to be more than twenty, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be trouble, and I bared my teeth.My canines were sharper than typical for a human, a testament to my lupine heritage, but not so noticeably that people jumped back in alarm. Only those with magical blood of their own sensed that I had power. This guy merely raised his eyebrows.

“Hi. I’m Yuto. Are you Ms. Luna Valens?”

I stopped a few feet away and gave a wary, “Yeah.”

“He said you were pretty, snarky, and kind of feral.”

I blinked at the description. “Who said that?”

The kid—Yuto—pulled out a phone and looked at a note on his screen. “Duncan Calderwood.”

“You’ve seen him? When?” I almost pounced on my visitor.

Maybe Yuto sensed that—and my feral vibe—because he took an uncertain step back. “A few days ago. It might have been almost a week. Sorry about that. We run a camp at the dojo over the holidays when kids are out of school, and it’s been busy.”

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