The morning was humid and warm like the inside of a body. The heat was growing as the rose in the sky. It was the type that smothered, curled around her limbs, pressed close against her face, soaked into her lungs. With the smell of the river ever present beneath the stench of baking garbage and the sweetness of blooming magnolias, Amy could almost imagine herself underwater.

Water.

It was becoming the enemy. In a book she once read, a girl is in the woods fleeing a werewolf. The wolf turns out to be her true love, but that only happens much later in the story. In the beginning, he's just one more danger she has to escape from on her way to reclaim her father's kingdom. The girl is overjoyed when she comes to a river and wades across it because she had heard the werewolves cannot cross water.

Amy had no problems crossing it-how many bridges had she driven over in her journey-but perhaps there was a kernel of truth hidden in the story. Water had a way of confusing her senses by drowning out millions of other smells and sounds. It had been that way at the marina in Galveston and it was like that now. The twists and turns in the Mississippi had her hopelessly lost. She had no idea what direction she was walking in anymore. Her destination had never been anything more than somewhere away from here, but Amy couldn't tell if she was walking in circles or if she could find her way back to the motel, if she wanted to.

The thought of returning snuck up on her. It creeped in while she wasn't looking and began a disloyal campaign to undermine her courage. The world around her began to feel too big. Her chances of survival in it, too small. Amy had nothing but the clothes on her back. She regretted choosing not to take any of the cash Emily had stashed in the bureau drawer.

In the moment when she decided to leave, she didn't want anything to do with the money. There was something wrong with it. She sensed it as soon as Emily dumped it out on the bedspread to count. It carried a putrid smell. She had heard the expression dirty money before and this was it. Each bill was soaked in sweat and alcohol and God only knew what else.

"Where did you get that?" Amy had asked. It was impossible to hide her disgust.

"If you don't want to know," Emily answered. "Don't ask."

Amy didn't want to know, but she couldn't help from wondering. What had Emily done all night dressed like a girl out of a music video? It nagged at her. It was unsettling. That wasn't how people earned money.

But how did people do it? The usual way was with a job. Her mom and dad had jobs. "We work hard to put this roof over your head," she had heard more than once. But she didn't think Emily had gotten a job.

In her books, characters rarely worked. Or they did a job and everything was taken care of. They'd complain it was a rough day at the office or a boring one at the coffee shop and then never mention it again. But usually in her books, the characters were students or adventurers. Sometimes both. They never had to work.

How had Emily gone out and came back hours later with a pile of cash? Amy wished she knew how. She was getting hungry and money would make that problem go away. However Emily had done it, it wasn't easy like in her books.

Emily was just as putrid as the bills when she got back to the room. She'd sweated through her clothes and the smell of strangers and smoke clung to her. After she finished counting it all and putting it in a stack with the money she had gotten the night before, Emily said, "One more night should do it, then we'll get you to that boat." She stuffed the money under some dirty clothes in a drawer and walked past Amy.

"Where are you going?"

"To take a shower."

At least she recognized how much she smelled. "Good. You need it," Amy said.

From behind the bathroom door, the word that came out of Emily's mouth was barely a whisper. It competed with the TV in the room and the one three units down. It had to contend with the cars on the highway a mile away, the faint hum of electricity in the wires, and the rushing gust of the air in the ducts. But Amy had no problems hearing it: "Bitch."

Emily had never called her a name before. Her brother, Donny, used to. He used to call her things all the time. It drove her crazy. Now they seemed ridiculous and silly: Nerd, Lame-O, Poop-Head. But this name was different. It was a bad thing to call a woman. That's what Deborah Andover had said when it had come up in a discussion at a sleepover in sixth grade. Amy had since learned it meant a female dog.

Female wolf, her mind whispered back.

That was why she couldn't go back. Wouldn't go back. The dirty name solidified things. Amy had first started to notice on their first day in the motel that Emily was getting edgy. Amy caught her watching her, sometimes. Her eyes narrow and suspicious, like she thought Amy was up to something. Maybe she was afraid Amy might change and eat her?

She would never do that. Even if the moon's cycle wasn't waning, she'd never do that to someone she loved. Even with Moore, when the desire had been overwhelming, Amy had stayed in control and had resisted.

But Emily flinched when Amy got too close. Not visibly. but the space around her body recoiled when she came near. Her aura shrank and trembled at Amy's approach. It was clear that she didn't want Amy to touch her.

She also didn't want Amy to leave the filthy motel room. Emily said it was to keep her safe. But maybe it was to keep all the others safe, like they did back at the prison of the lab. She hadn't been sure what Emily had thought of her. Hadn't been sure if it was her imagination or not. But the longer they spent together, the more in focus it became.

Bitch

After her shower, Emily came back out with damp hair. She wore only a cheap tourist T-shirt she had picked up with a pile of other clothes earlier that day. It was a purple tank top that covered her to mid-thigh and said in gold letters, "Voodoo." It looked like she had been crying. She must have done it quietly enough so the shower masked the noise.

Amy turned down the sound on the TV. "I've been thinking, I don't want to go to the boat."

"Christ. Not this again."

"Look at what happened in Galveston."

"That had nothing to do with there being a boat. It was that fuu...that freaking Agency. Maxwell's going to keep them away this time."

Emily didn't understand. She thought Amy was afraid of the men. She was more afraid of what she had done to them. And she was absolutely terrified about the way the sea made her feel. She did not want to be on a little platform of wood in the middle of it.

She started to explain, "But the ocean it smells bad. It gets in my nose and-"

"Damn it. Everything smells bad with you. The ocean smells bad. The room smells bad. I smell bad. Do you want me to take you to some-some fracking flower garden to live?"

"Why are you yelling?"

"Because I am mad."

"At me?"

"No, at Colonel F-ing Sanders. Of course you. I'm exhausted. I've been out all night, on my feet, putting myself at risk, all so I can get you to the boat. I should be home with my boy, instead I'm here sticking my neck out to help you and do you think you could be grateful for one fucking minute?"

"It's just that the ocean messes up my head."

"Everything is going to mess with your head out here. It's called being an adult. Get used to it. You don't think I have things messing up my head?"

"Why did you come for me on that motorcycle if you didn't want to?"

"You tell me." Emily grabbed her, clutched her arms and searched her face. "Why?" she said with childlike bewilderment, the anger evaporated. "What are you doing to me?"

The fear in Emily's wide eyes horrified her. Amy pulled away. "I'm not doing anything."

Emily wrapped her head in her arms like she was about to be sick. "Sorry. I'm just really exhausted. And I miss Aaron. Let's call it a night. It'll be light soon anyway. I'll get us a car tomorrow and we'll head straight there. If we run out of money we'll deal with it. Just let me get a bit of sleep and we'll get out of here."

Emily lay in bed with her eyes closed but it was a long time before her breathing settled into a sleeping rhythm. Amy waited another half hour before going to the bathroom. There was a window over the bathtub. She cranked it open hoping that slowly would equal quietly. The metal squeaked with each twist but Emily seemed a little deaf, just like R.J. had. When it was open, she pushed on the screen until it ripped.

The front door was next to Emily's bed, there was no way she could get it open without waking her. So the window was her way out.

Now the motel was somewhere back there. Or maybe over there. Amy was no longer sure.

She could do this. She managed on her own just fine back in Texas. She'd be okay. So long as she didn't kiss anyone.

Amy would just keep walking. She wasn't going to get on any boat. And she wouldn't be a burden to anyone again. It was a great big world in front of her. She just needed to find a way to slip into it and disappear.

***

Author's Note: So chapter 10 has finally closed. Sorry for a bit of a lackluster final scene but I promise chapter 11 has lots happening. It'll be our last look at the characters until Book 3 so everyone will get a parting gift, of sorts. Expect big reveals and maybe a death or two.