Only Human

found."
    "I don't think so. Magic does have a distinctive scent, but only when it's active. When a spell is being performed, for example. What I identified was the smell of lupus, not magic itself."
    "Is there anything else you can tell me about the killer?"
    He frowned and sipped his coffee. She was not surprised to see that he drank it black. "He wasn't a juvenile."
    "You can tell that from the scent?"
    "No. The body wasn't eaten."
    Coffee sloshed in her cup. She set it down carefully. "Explain."
    "It's pure superstition that an adult lupus will be overcome by bloodlust and attack whatever moves. Young lupi lose themselves in the beast, but we learn control. If we didn't, we really would be the ravening beasts depicted in movies like Witch Hunt.”
    "So a child or adolescent wouldn't have acquired control yet."
    "Not a child. The Change arrives with puberty."
    She thought of a particularly improbable photograph she'd seen while waiting in the checkout line at the grocery store recently. A woman had been sitting up in a hospital bed with several blanket-wrapped bundles tucked into her arms. Bundles with puppy faces. “The National Tattler would be disappointed to hear that."
    "I doubt the Tattler allows facts to interfere with its editorial focus."
    "I guess not. Talk about raging hormones." Lily gave herself a moment to think by sipping her coffee. This was completely new information. She hadn't heard it, read it, anywhere. Why would he trust her with this knowledge? Was it true? "You’re saying that a young lupus kills. And eats what he kills."
    "If he is allowed to, yes. But we are careful with our children. None go through the Change unsupervised."
    Her lips twitched. Embarrassed, she took a quick sip of coffee.
    "Something amuses you?"
    "I have an odd sense of humor," she said apologetically. "I thought of those ads—you know, the public service ones?— where parents of teenagers are told to nag them about where they're going, who they'll be with, all that. And I pictured one aimed for the parents of teenage lupi: 'Where are you going? Who else will be there? Have you eaten? I expect you back before the moon rises, young man!' "
    He burst into laughter. "You're not that far off."
    A bubble of happiness lodged beneath her breastbone. She liked the sound of his laughter, the way his head went back to open his throat to it, the smooth line of his throat... uh-oh, she thought, the bubble popping. What's happening here?
    She poured more creamer into her coffee so she could stir it around. A light touch on her cheek made her look up, startled.
    "Hey. The light suddenly turned off in your face. What happened?"
    She could have told him again to keep his hands to himself, but it would have been dishonest. Somehow, between one grin and a moment of shared laughter, they'd stepped outside their proper roles and entered undefined territory.
    But the very lack of definition made complete honesty im-
    possible. She couldn't refer to a relationship that hovered over them only in potential, a heavy cloud that might hold storm and lightning—or might pass on without shedding a single drop. She certainly couldn't tell him that his promiscuity repelled her.
    Lily chose her words carefully. "You have two sons yourself, I understand."
    "It seems you do read the Tattler."
    "Like I said earlier, after the first killing I did some research."
    "On me?" His mouth twisted. "What exactly is it you suspect me of?"
    She shrugged, uncomfortable but unwilling to apologize for doing her job. "You're very well known. You live in the enclave—"
    "Clanhome. We don't call it an enclave."
    "All right, then, you live at Clanhome, but you have a condo here in the city and you travel all over the place, partying with the Hollywood crowd, meeting with policy makers in Sacramento and Washington. You've made yourself into a public figure, and I have to think that's intentional—you're trying to replace the old stereotypes with an image you've consciously created. Of course I found out what I could about you."
    One corner of his mouth tipped up, more in irony than humor. "You're perceptive. Has it occurred to you that if I've been creating an image, whatever information is available about me would be part of that image?"
    "And not necessarily true, you mean? But the image tells me things, too. Like what you want people to believe about lupi. Why does your father so seldom appear in public?"
    He studied her for a moment, his mouth drawn into a thin