Revenant by Patti Larsen Page B

take care of things. Then again, were he a werewolf, he wouldn’t be this sick in the first place.
    His wolf is rising, but it’s not enough. Yes, the sickness might yet burn off. The wolf is strong in him and, though he’s sick, I can’t sense the taint I’ve associated with revenants in the past. But it’s possible the infection he’s fighting—both of them—could trigger something else entirely. I have so little knowledge of what is actually happening to him, I can’t make a judgment either way. But the realization a trauma like this could trigger a shift in him decides for me.
    I can’t allow the revenant to win before I can find a cure.
    We’re in downtown San Antonio, surrounded by cars, stopped at a streetlight. I barely remember driving this far. I have to focus. My gaze sweeps both sides of the street, rewarded at last. I spot a little pharmacy on a corner and park across the street, ignoring the angry beeping of the cars trying to get around me. I should leave him here, but I can’t risk it. What if he were to change right here in traffic? I’d never get to him in time, before someone took a photo or video. And with today’s social media sites, he’d be all over the world before even the witch councils could stop it.
    I spin on him, unbuckling his belt, leaning over to open his door. A firm shove gets him moving, wobbly but functional. I climb out after him, partly to avoid the traffic swerving around the car, and partly to keep him from falling down. Sage sways on the sidewalk, leaning to the left, still with that goofy grin on his face.
    The traffic thins a moment, a woman giving me the finger before gunning past. I take advantage of the gap, dragging Sage across the street and to the glass door of the pharmacy. He wavers next to me, head down, barely registering the chime of the bell overhead as we enter with a soft whimper.
    I keep him close to me as I hurry down the aisles, hands grabbing for pain killers. But what I really need are antibiotics, and I don’t have access. What will they do to his wolf physiology? I have no idea. But his human side needs them, that much is obvious. My gaze whips to the back of the store and the prescription counter. An older man stands there in a crisp white coat, balding head gray in a ring around his temples. He hasn’t noticed us, absorbed in whatever he’s working on, a pen in his hand. I know he won’t give me what I need, not without a prescription. He’s not allowed, it’s human law.
    Which means I might have to hurt him to help Sage.
    As I turn to tell my love to stay put, he pulls away from me, lunging forward, strength renewed as the fever rages. His eyes have gone wolf, hands grasping at random items. He sniffs them with aggressive interest, casting things aside almost as quickly as he seizes them. I can’t risk controlling him with magic, and am forced to chase him as he leaps forward and into the path of a young woman. She screams at the sight of him, her high heels slipping on the tile, short skirt hitching upward as she totters. I grab for her, pull her upright by her bare arm. She runs with clacking feet, hands scrambling over the keypad of her phone.
    I look up and realize we’re no longer anonymous. We’ve caught the frowning attention of the pharmacist whose hand hovers over a phone of his own.
    Damn it, I have to control Sage before this devolves further. But he lunges out of my reach as I dive for him, skidding into the empty space in front of the pharmacy counter. He grins, panting, at the older man, licking his lips as though the pharmacist is dinner. And then, Sage spins in place, eyes rolling up into his head, before collapsing to the floor like a broken rag doll.
    His heart skips. Stops. Stutters. Stops again.
    No, please no. He can’t be dead—
    I’m frozen in place, even as the world erupts around me. A slim black woman with finely braided hair tied at the nape of her neck falls to her knees next to Sage before looking up at