The scene is simple. It's simple and boring.

Denny is sitting on the edge of Tiff's bed. There isn't anywhere else to sit in here. Tiff is at her workbench, tinkering away and adjusting something based on an old CD player-slash-radio combo with a karaoke machine and a bubble blower. Denny isn't sure what the kid is doing or why, but she does know that Kepler is trying to get underneath one of Denny's knees.

She can reason with him, right? Denny grabs him around the middle and holds him up so they can look each other in the eye: him with his beady black rat eyes, glimmering with intelligence, and her with her brown, mostly-human ones with the weird reflective layer that she never bothered to learn the name of. They're the same, almost. Neither of them are what they look like.

"I'll tell you what, Kep," she says, conspiratorial. "You stop trying to get under my leg so you can burrow there or whatever it is that rats do, and I'll let you get on my shoulders and head. Deal?"

He nods.

Weird. Do rats normally nod?

"Hey, Tiff, do rats normally nod?" Denny is still holding the squirming little guy, but looks around him and his bandanna.

"He's not a rat, he's a dog."

"Fine. Do dogs normally nod?"

"I don't know. Kepler's a little weird. He's really smart, for some reason. He can read, you know?"

"I did not know."

Kepler squirms a little, happy like a clam or a newborn baby. He pats Denny's cheek; she tries not to turn her head away.

"Wouldn't it be weird if we could talk to him? That would be weird."

"I mean... you're a werewolf," Tiff points out. "Can't you talk to wolves?"

"Kepler's not a wolf."

"I didn't say he was a wolf."

"I don't know if I can talk to wolves. I still haven't tried." Denny shrugs. Oddly enough, she does it in time with the music blasting from Tiff's computer.

Somehow, Denny actually knows this one. Cory was on a Mommy Long Legs kick a while back, and "Sorority Girls" was one of the songs he demanded be on a CD in Denny's car. She was willing to oblige, as long as he was the one who burned it.

Looking around the room, it's kind of obvious that the kid is a little obsessed with Mommy Long Legs. She has hand-painted posters and album covers scattered around on the shed's walls. It's sweet. Denny tucks that information away for later.

"Someone else brought it up," Denny continues. "Drake or Robin or Lucky or someone, because we were talking about now Drake can't speak squirrel--"

Tiff snorts. "Drake can't speak squirrel?"

"Nah." Denny finally moves the still-squirming Kepler to her shoulders and lets him perch there like an angry little gargoyle. He's surprisingly slinky for a dog-rat of his size. "Can't speak cougar, either."

"Huh. I don't know why I assumed he could."

"He can't."

"I know. The cougar shift is so cool, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it is. And I don't talk to wolves. Still haven't tried it since then. Believe it or not, there's not a lot of wolves around here. Also, I forget to try when I get the opportunity."

"Can you talk to dogs?"

"I don't think so?" Denny will admit that this is the best way the conversation could have gone, given the circumstances. There was a nightmare scenario in the back of her head where Tiff, channeling every B movie mad scientist, straps her to a vivisection table and starts taking a look. "I'm not a dog."

"I didn't say you were a dog. There probably aren't a whole lot of other werewolves around here, I'm betting."

Denny nods. "You bet right. I've never met anyone like me, unless you count the loser who popped out of the dumpster and bit me. They just kinda... ran off, after. I was, what, fourteen?"

"How long has it been?"

"Nine years."

"Nine whole years. That's a long time."

"I kind of like it, you know. Most of the time."

Kepler starts tapping the top of Denny's head, like he's testing her skull for soft spots. She swats his hands gently.

"Good." Tiff nods. "Good, good. I'm glad. Hey, I have a quick question. The quickest of questions, really. Don't freak out, okay? It's going to sound weird."

"Uh... I can't promise I'm not gonna freak out."

"Can I have some of your blood?"

Denny pauses in trying to play with Kepler. Kepler does not pause in trying to make what is probably a nest in her hair. "What now?"

"Your... blood." Tiff doesn't stop moving her hands at the workbench, but elaborates, "I have some tests I want to do, and research I want to do on lycanthropy and urinsthropy, and I was wondering if I could have some of your blood for that."

"My blood?"

"Yeah, your blood."

"The blood I need in my body? That blood?"

"One and the same!"

"Let's talk about that later, kid." Denny hopes it's obvious that she means that this will not be happening. Her blood belongs in her body, not in Tiff's hands.

The tinkering continues, and the playlist continues on down to Slutever songs that Denny doesn't know (because she doesn't like this type of music, and maggots are gross). Tiff doesn't sing along once she's in the zone; she just bobs her head gently.

Denny sighs, flops back onto the bed, and holds Kepler high above her head like a toddler. She muses, looking into Kepler's admittedly plum-pleased eyes and happily-swimming limbs, "I don't know about all this, Tiff. All this Despina business? We've got a lot of missing kids around here, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know. I came across a lot when I was at the library yesterday."

"Lots of dead kids, too. Like Tiff Summers."

"Yeah, I know. Let's not talk about her."

"What if it's not Despina Worth? She didn't come off like she was trying to hurt me. It was like..."

"Like she was being controlled?"

"Yeah."

Back still turned, hands still controlled and moving, Tiff nods three times. "Yeah, I picked up on that, too."

"What do you think it means?" Denny asks, because she has absolutely no clue.

"Maybe there's a way to tell when she's not being controlled by someone or something. I'll think about it in a bit. Continue?"

"So... What if it's one of the other people? Like her boyfriend? Or one of the other missing or dead kids around here?"

"What missing kids around these parts haven't been found?" Tiff asks. "Haven't gotten their resolution? I'm asking that genuinely-- I'm still new to town, so I'm not as connected to everything as, uh... As Drake or Betty might have been. Sorry."

"First of all," and Denny makes Kepler swim above her head like a fishy little airplane (he's enjoying it, at least), "stop comparing yourself to Drake and Betty. All three of you are... weird and powerful in different ways... and all very capable."

"Oh." Tiff's shoulders tense up. "Thanks."

"Second..." Denny wracks her brain. "No, I guess Michael Middleton did come back. Huh. Well-- What about-- Oh! What about that--" Denny would snap her fingers if they were free as she struggles for the name she's trying to say. "What about that Lewis Ferrier guy?"

Tiff's hands stop moving. The screwdriver slips on the plastic casing. "What about him?"

"Well, what if it's not Despina? What if it's him pretending to be Despina? Or his grief taking her form or something?"

"I don't think it's him."

"Hear me out, hear me out! He went missing last year, on the same day those kids came out of their comas. I heard about it, even if you left that part out in your little tangent about nightmares and comas that you went on back in, what, September?"

"It wasn't for no reason," Tiff admits, voice quiet, level, and barely audible over the music and Kepler's wet nose trying to sniff something on either Denny's head or the wall. She sets down the screwdriver she's holding, leaves it flat on the bench. "I knew there was something off about you and, even if I couldn't trust you with everything, I figured I could trust you to believe me. Not a lot of people did, unless they went through it. Like Drake, or Eliza."

"That's really... sweet?"

"Not really. I didn't even tell Betty about it, and she was my best friend. I mean, how are you supposed to tell your best friend-- the one good person you know-- that the guy she likes helped kill your mom in a nightmare version of the worst day of your life? You can't. That's not a thing that you talk about unless you want to bring the mood down."

Denny lifts her head a little, trying to meet Tiff's eyes. "Drake did that?"

"Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. It's not important. She wasn't the real version of my mom, anyway."

"We're gonna talk about why you killed your mom in a waking nightmare later."

"Let's not do that, actually. It's not something I need to talk about."

"We all need to talk about things sometimes."

"Do we?" The tone Tiff takes is accusatory, and it makes Denny think briefly of the things she doesn't talk about. Almost every bad thing falls into that category and always has.

"Well," Denny says, getting back on track, "it was kinda sweet for you to think you could trust me when you didn't know me. It's really nice."

"Not really." Tiff fiddles with and adjusts the screwdriver under her hand. She rolls it back and forth on the wood. "I'm not sweet."

"You can be."

"Okay. If you say so."

"I feel like you're dodging my Lewis question," Denny sighs.

"I'm not dodging it. I just don't know how to answer it." Tiff sighs, sets down her tools again. "I mean, he was nineteen-- he should be twenty now, that's old enough to be on your own, isn't it? Right? I don't know... So maybe he isn't missing. Maybe he just moved on from Lake Wonder."

Tiff sits down on the stool and faces Denny, who knows that now is the time to sit back up and stop airplaning Kepler. Instead, she holds him like he's Mr. Bigglesworth.

Tiff sighs, leans forward on her knees, steeples her hands in front of her. "I mean, I've been thinking about it. I have these dreams... I know they don't have to do with anything, and they're just manifestations of guilt, but... I don't know, Denny. I keep having these dreams where he's out in that magic cave that Eddy told me about, or the other cave where the Fever Thorn Rose was living, and he comes out of this glowing green pod, having been rebuilt by some mysterious force or creature or evil wizard... It's silly, I know, because he definitely isn't in a cave. And dreams are stupid, anyway."

"Do you... want to talk about it?"

"Do we even have time? I think I just spent a full minute rambling about gooey pods."

"I think..." Denny considers it, looking at the posters on the wall. "I think, if there's something bothering you, and it's going to make you feel guilty and potentially interfere with what we're doing... and it really is him..."

"It's not him, though. It can't be, because he's still alive. I know where he is. He never had a water motif, either. I was the one who almost drowned and the one who got strangled by a toad man who looked like Chris Hemsworth. He was the one who fucked horses."

Denny isn't sure she heard that last part right "I'm sorry, he did what?"

"He, uh-- Wow, I really didn't tell you about this, did I?" She stands back up and starts her work again. "There's issues with the portals and all now, to the point where I can't even get an interdimensional mailbox set up even though that should be easy. But they were working then. And I didn't bring up Lewis because... Well, I didn't want to talk about it. I thought he was dead. I had a whole crisis of faith about it. A crisis of non-faith? I don't know. I know he's alive now-- he's a centaur in the dream world, so I guess the horse-fucker thing was real and serious--

"Gross."

"Yeah, I know! And I didn't want to talk about it because I thought he was dead back in September, but I found out he wasn't in January."

"Damn. I know about that kinda thing."

"Really?"

"No, not really," Denny admits. "I was just trying to commiserate."

"But you understand. You know what it's like, to be guilty?" Tiff's voice goes back to that rapid, near-breathless place, like she's hoping the answer will be yes. "To think it's all your fault all the time?"

"Yeah," Denny says, trying not to think about March 29th in the same way she has been avoiding it all year. "Yeah, I know."

"So... We met Lewis in a dream, where he tried to like... kill us. And I don't blame him, it was a Pathfinder dream."

Denny snorts, trying to break the tension. "Pathfinder's some nerd shit."

"Exactly! You get it! Pathfinder's some nerd shit! So, he made us pledge allegiance to him, and I got kicked by a horse-- you know, normal stuff-- and then we saw him in real life and he came with us. And you know what? He did want to fuck horses. And you know what? He did become Jason Voorhees and try to kill us. And he did try to crash a plane we were on and kill us that way, and tried to manipulate Eliza into going on a date with him to stop destroying the plane."

"Gross. That's really gross. And he was nineteen?"

"Yeah, he was nineteen! I was sixteen, I'm not sure how old Eliza was."

"It's still gross."

"I know! And I saved him, can you believe that? I saved him from a spider woman that tried to kill us, and then he yelled so loud that he summoned this weird skinless bear and almost got us killed! And we gave him so many second chances! I gave him so many second chances!" Tiff, frustrated, slaps her screwdriver back down on the workbench. She's shaking. Denny can't tell if it's from rage or from some more tender emotion. Tiff grips the workbench like it's trying to run away from her. "We gave him so many second chances. Second chance after second chance. And then he tried to end the world, and Eddy and Darius and Kroakulus the toadman killed him. And..."

Tiff sighs, looks up and out through the window overlooking the rest of the backyard to the broken fence and the woods beyond it. Denny can see the trees moving in a thin spring breeze, pine needles rustling and shedding like hair.

Tiff doesn't turn around, but Denny can see a hint of a sad smile on her face. Tiff smiles too much. It's weird that she's smiling now, as she shakes her head and says, "And it's all my fault. I should have intervened. I know it's silly that I'm breaking down about this, but-- I didn't intervene. I was... weak."

"You're being really emotionally vulnerable--"

"Like a baby, Denny--"

"And I don't know what to do about that! I don't want to say the wrong thing."

"Don't worry about it." Tiff starts cranking a screw into place again. "I try not to be. Vulnerable, I mean. But I needed to explain that-- Well-- It-- It's not Lewis. It can't be. And I keep having these dreams, the goo pod dreams, where he comes back to life and I have to... I have to kill him."

"You don't have to kill him."

"No, I mean that I have to kill him in the dream."

"Oh." Denny blinks. "They're just dreams, Tiff. And you're not the one who killed him. And he's alive now, so it's fine."

"No, yeah, I guess I didn't kill him directly. Just by inaction."

"You'll do better next time," Denny jokes. "You'll get him good. He's alive, anyway."

"Yeah, he's a centaur in the Dream World."

"Oh, so it definitely can't be him, then."

"No, yeah, that's what I'm saying. It can't be him. Unless he's some sort of evil wizard casting from some secluded underground wizard tower in the Dream World. I don't think he's an evil wizard, though."

"Is it an evil wizard?" Denny finally sets Kepler on the ground. He has been sitting in her lap, rapt and paying close attention to the conversation at hand. Weird. He shouldn't have been able to do that. (Oh, well. It's not Denny's problem.) "Is that what we're dealing with? An evil wizard?"

Tiff doesn't even consider it. "Nah. Not at all. I don't think it's a ghost. My current theory is that it's some sort of undead entity with unfinished business-- like a ghost, but also not at all. I've already said that so many times."

"Well, that's confusing. Whoever would let something like that happen has some serious explaining to do."

Tiff shrugs. "It's not confusing to me."

"Well, we can't all be smart. Some of us are meant to be dumbasses," Denny chuckles.

Tiff groans, slaps her screwdriver down on the table again. "I know what this machine needs to work. The-- It's-- I can't explain what's wrong with this, but just-- we need some Bigfoot hair."

"Talk about switching the subject! Christ, kid."

"Sorry. It's just-- It's frustrating! Of all the weird little ingredients I have, it's the one I don't have any more of."

"Why do you need Bigfoot hair?"

"Half-Bigfoot hair might work? Hey, Denny, did you ever share a hairbrush with Betty? I would look for one around here, but I don't really brush my hair."

"That explains why it looks like you--"

"Hey now, I do comb it. You clearly don't, except for those-- Oh, your sideburns are sick! I can't believe I just noticed those! They're so neat!"

"To answer your question: no, I have never shared a hairbrush with a teenage girl I am not related to." Denny's mother always warned her against sharing a hairbrush with anyone. She was always concerned about lice. (To be frank, Matilda McFadden is still concerned about lice.)

"Okay. So. Plan. Plan, plan, plan." Tiff turns around again and leans against the workbench behind her. This kid is in constant motion and it's making Denny a little confused. "It's going to sound stupid. But. Before you do your whole shifting thing, we need to stop by the Lewises and I need to get up to Betty's room and get hair."

"So we're amending the plan?"

"Well, I never wrote it down, so it's infinitely amendable."

"Are you going to write it down now?"

"I am not. I get the feeling that someone will be throwing a wrench in our works."

"God?" Denny asks. "That tricky bastard's always messing things up."

Tiff shakes her head. "No, not God. Something else. You know how bitchy those cosmic forces can be. And God's not real and neither are angels."

"Well, obviously. Angels are a sky creature, and sky creatures like aliens and angels aren't real."

"Exactly! And all the birds around here are cameras!"

"Wait-- No, you sound like Lucky. Get back in your niche and stop being a conspiracy theorist."

"I'm a real person, Denny." Tiff blinks, deadpan. "I can't fit into a niche. I am just who I am from moment to moment."

"Deep."

"Yeah, and I'm fourteen."

Denny scratches her head. "I thought you were seventeen?"

"No, I am, I-- That was a-- Oh, forget it. What were we talking about?" Tiff snaps her fingers a few times. "Oh! Bigfoot hair and the plan. That's what."

"Right." Denny still doesn't get the joke. She isn't going to admit that.

"So, we're amending the plan. I'll bring, uh-- Well-- This is going to be another weird question. I know it is."

"You're not going to ask for my blood again, are you?"

"No." Tiff scowls a little, as if she resents the question. The awkwardness leeches back in a split second later. "So... When you shift... And I'm only asking this because it was important with Drake, even though he's half-fae and not a werewolf, and we both know that-- So-- And-- So, when you--"

Even Denny has her limits on patience. "Dear fucking god, Tiff, please just take a second so you can get the question out in one go."

"So, when you shift, and we're trying to find Despina and where she really is-- Do I put-- Is it-- Is it a leash?"

"What? That's not a sentence, try again."

"Do I have to walk you like a dog?"

"I'm not a dog, Tiff."

"Yeah, but do I have to put you on a leash? So people aren't weird about-- Oh my god, wait a second, I just put something together!" Tiff does a spin like this is a murder mystery and she just cracked the case. "Back in November, there was a rumor that Lucky Lewis very suddenly had a new, very big dog. And then they didn't have a dog anymore. And you do investigation stuff with her. And so does Drake. So then-- you were the dog, and Drake was the--" Tiff covers her mouth and speaks through her fingers. "Drake was the chicken? The rooster that was running all around town?"

"Yeah, Drake was the... Drake was the rooster." Denny sighs. "If he tries to tell you that I tried to eat him, don't believe him. I just did a sick-ass somersault and he was fine."

"That makes no sense. Hah!" Tiff snaps her fingers some more, then moves away from her machine yet again. She drops down to the ground with no hesitation like she's either going to squirm like a snake or do a push-up, then swats Denny's ankles. "Move your feet, I need to get into the drawer. I like your socks."

"Uh... thanks." Denny moves her feet like she's supposed to do. The socks are novelty ones that Jessie got for her as a birthday present last year. They have little sharks on them.

"Kepler!" Tiff calls. By the door, Kepler perks up. "Grab my keys from the door bucket!"

There's an explanation for what Tiff is doing, it would seem. Denny doesn't quite get it, but it's there. As soon as she gets what she needs out from under the bed (an old lockbox with both a padlock and combination lock), she unlocks it and takes out a legal pad written in a worse version of Tiff's normal, already-atrocious handwriting. She crosses something out, writes out a quick note, and shoves it back under the bed.

Denny doesn't ask. She doesn't want to know. It weirds her out, to think that there might be notes about her in there. She thinks briefly about how she fought Lucky for their notes about her back when the two of them first met.

Denny doesn't want to fight a teenager. She knows from experience that it really isn't worth it.

"Alright," she sighs. "Grab Kepler and your device. Let's blow this popstand and go get some teenage Bigfoot hair."