Boundary Lines by Melissa F. Olson Page B

skinny, naked form dropped out of the nearest tree, no more than six feet away.
    I jumped, but managed to suppress the shriek that threatened to erupt from my throat. He’d annoyed me, though, and I rather vindictively clicked on the flashlight and shone it right at his face.
    “Owwwwww,” Tobias complained, dropping instinctively into a crouch. He held up one hand to shield his eyes. In his human form, the werewolf was average height, slender, with ropy limbs and dun-colored hair that stood up in angry tufts like he’d been pulling on it. His blue eyes glared at me. “Just funny,” he sputtered, and then more carefully, he said, “Joke-telling, I was joke-telling.” His face creased into a frown. “Joke-being, maybe.”
    Quinn gave me a questioning look, but I just shrugged. I’d met a crazy werewolf in Los Angeles who made Tobias look downright coherent. As far as I was concerned, werewolf magic was called a curse for a reason.
    Tobias went over to the horse blanket, wobbling a little on his two legs. He scooped it up carelessly and wrapped it around his belly, tucking it in like a towel. I moved the beam of the light toward his chest, and he relaxed, his fingers reaching up to casually grip the fence near his face. Taking charge, Quinn stepped forward so he was right up against our side of the fence. “My name is Quinn,” he said in the same cool, distant tone he’d used when we first met, when I was the one being questioned. “I work for Maven.”
    Tobias glared at me. “Silver girl,” he growled.
    Aw. He remembered me. “Lex,” I corrected him. “I work for Maven too.” It still felt weird saying it out loud.
    “In charge now Maven in charge now,” Tobias said in the same odd, jarring cadence, like he was having a hard time modulating his volume and tone.
    Quinn and I exchanged another look in the light leaking from my flashlight. Maven had only usurped Itachi a couple of weeks ago. “So they visit you,” I said casually. “The other werewolves.”
    Tobias’s tongue snaked out, swiping the air in front of his face. Then he seemed to remember himself, his form. “Yes, visit,” he agreed. “Brothers-sisters too.”
    “When?” Quinn asked. “When were they here last?”
    Still gripping the fence with his fingers, Tobias leaned backward, swaying back and forth. “Moons and suns ago,” he sang.
    I rolled my eyes. Of course the idiot had no concept of time. “Who, Tobias?” I asked. “Who comes to visit?”
    The werewolf gave me a perfectly human look that clearly suggested I might be daft. “Brothers and sisters,” he said again, more loudly this time.
    “Names? You must know their names.”
    Tobias nodded. “Mary-Cammie-Ryan-Matt-Alex-Jamie,” he said happily.
    “Last names?” Quinn asked. “You know, surnames?”
    Tobias shrugged, humming to himself.
    Quinn made a frustrated sound at the back of his throat, but I pushed on. I wanted to get this over with and get the hell away from this thing. “Do they all come at once?” I asked. “Many brothers and sisters? Or only one at a time?”
    He cocked his head, as if it took him a moment to translate the meaning of my question. “One, two to talk,” he said, his voice maintaining at least an even volume now. “Talk to Tobias, ’cause Tobias won’t talk back.”
    “They come to see you when they need someone to talk to?” I translated.
    He nodded, looking relieved that I understood.
    “Tobias, the last full moon was five nights ago,” Quinn said in a patient voice. “Has anyone visited you since then?”
    The werewolf cocked his head again, untangling Quinn’s words, and then he giggled. “Five nights . . . moon lines called. Call me still.” The mirth left his face and he looked almost solemn. Reverent, even. “Call me now .”
    I had no idea what that meant, but before either of us could ask, Tobias leaped backward, his makeshift skirt slipping off his waist, and threw himself against the fence in the adjacent corner