“HOW DO WE get there?” Hi wiped perspiration from his brow.

We were on the blacktop behind our townhomes. The sun was already beating down, the morning a scorcher.

Shelton was entering the pawnshop’s address into his cell phone’s GPS program. He wore a white polo and beige cargo shorts. Silent as usual, Ben stood beside him in his black tee and jeans. The heat never seemed to touch him.

“Ben will drive,” I said.

“I will?”

“We’ll take Kit’s car. He’s at work.”

“Kit said we could take his 4Runner?” Shelton sounded skeptical.

“He never said we couldn’t. That gives me a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

“How do you figure?” Hi asked.

“If Kit gets mad, I’ll play dumb and apologize. He’ll let it go the first time.”

“I’m not stealing your dad’s car.” Ben was firm. “Call him.”

“Trust me, he’ll never know.” I checked my watch. “We have six hours to get there and back. We could make five round trips!”

Time for an ego tweaking. “You can drive, right?”

“Of course I can!” Last month, with everyone grounded, Ben had finally gotten a driver’s license. “That’s not the point.”

“There’s no other way,” Shelton said. “We can’t sail to North Charleston.”

Ben said nothing.

“Come on!” Sweat rings had formed around the pits of Hi’s sky-blue Hawaiian shirt. “We’re standing in the hottest spot on planet Earth. Let’s just go!”

“Fine. Everyone wears seatbelts. No radio. No distractions.” Ben shot Hi a stern look. “No running commentary.”

“Your loss,” Hi said. “To the pimp ride!”

Five minutes later, we were cruising the unmarked, one-lane blacktop that connects Morris to Folly Island. After passing through Folly Beach, we picked up State Highway 171 and cut north toward James Island.

I’d cranked the AC to maximum for Hi’s benefit, but I was only wearing a tank top, shorts, and sandals. The arctic blast immediately covered me in goose bumps.

Honoring Ben’s request, we rode in silence. It was strange for us, traveling alone by car. A first for the Virals. Outside, Lowcountry marshland slipped by on both sides. Here and there an egret or crane rose from the still water on long stick legs.

Turning right on the James Island Expressway, Ben crossed to the downtown peninsula and continued on Calhoun Street. A right on King took us north, away from the touristy, historic districts we usually frequented.

We drove past the Cooper River Bridge, a dividing line between blue blood and blue collar. A few miles farther and we crossed into North Charleston.

Myers is a tough district, filled with seedy houses, cheap high-rise apartments, liquor stores, and pawnshops. It’s one of the poorest locales in America—few residents finish high school, and even fewer attend college. Crime is common and frequently violent.

Those lucky enough to have jobs are mostly factory workers or day laborers. The homeless and unemployed gather on street corners, shooting up and drinking to escape the reality of their lives.

Myers was not a neighborhood to visit on a lark.

Hi reached over and hit the door locks.

“Next right,” Shelton said. Then, “There, on the left. Bates Pawn-and-Trade.”

“Are we one hundred percent sure about exiting the vehicle?” Hi’s voice was a bit high. “It might not be here when we get back.”

“I’ll park right in front.” Ben also sounded tense.

“We’ll be fine,” I said. “In and out.”

“That’s what she said,” Hi mumbled, hauling himself from the car.

Bates Pawn-and-Trade was the last unit in a dilapidated strip mall composed of a Laundromat, a nail salon, a pool hall, and a Baptist church.

A red banner proclaimed the shop’s name in bold letters. Barred windows displayed an array of dusty offerings. Nine-millimeter cameras. A drum set. A sad little collection of gold watches.

And guns. Lots of guns.

Ben shouldered the solid steel door. Nothing.

“Hit the buzzer,” Shelton suggested.

We waited a few moments, idly staring at a security camera set inside a metal cage. A buzzer sounded, the locks clicked, and we pushed through.

Inside, naked bulbs hung from the ceiling, barely lighting the cloudy glass cases lining the concrete walls. Even by pawnshop standards, this store was dreary.

A thick wooden counter ran the length of the rear wall. Behind it sat an immense black man counting a wad of bills. I put his weight at over three hundred pounds. Short and balding, he wore faded black pants, a UPS work polo, and red and white throwback Jordans.

An unlit cigar jutted from a corner of the man’s mouth. The stool supporting his enormous derriere appeared on the verge of giving up.

“Ya’ll need something?” The man didn’t glance in our direction.

“Just looking, thanks!” Reveal our target and he’d jack up the price.

“Umm hmm.” His eyes never rose. “The bongs are in the corner, FYI.”

Great. He thought we were stoners.

“Spread out,” I whispered. “Scratch your head if you spot the collection.”

We all moved in separate directions, which caught the man’s eye.

“Don’t even think about pulling a stunt.” A thumb jabbed his chest. “This here is my shop. Lonnie Bates. I don’t tolerate foolishness.”

“No sir,” Shelton squeaked. “No stunts.”

“Damn right.” Again the thumb. “Don’t forget I’ve got to buzz ya’ll back out.”

Bates went back to counting.

Noticing movement, I glanced to my right. Hi was rubbing his dome with both hands. Not exactly subtle. We all closed in.

Hi pointed to a crate on a wall-bolted shelf. We scanned the jumbled contents. Dusty papers. A souvenir eye patch from the Pirate Aquarium. Costume jewelry. Two three-corner hats. Replica flintlock pistols. A torn Jolly Roger flag, made in China.

“Garbage,” Ben whispered. “Useless crap.”

“I see you’ve located some of my valuable antiques.” Bates slipped from his stool and waddled toward us. “Priceless heirlooms.”

Shelton snorted. “You could buy this junk at Party City. In better condition.”

“Not true.” Bates yanked the box from the shelf. “Some crap was added later, but this crate is full of historical documents. Blackbeard’s personal shit. Some Anne Bonny stuff, too.”

Beefy hands eased a stack of papers from underneath the kitsch.

My pulse cranked. Bates was right. The documents were either very old or very good fakes. If the former, they might actually be worth something.

“I’d need to have these appraised,” I said. “Verify they’re real.”

“Sorry, paying customers only.” Bates held the papers to his chest. “I can’t risk ya’ll damaging historical treasures.”

Crap! I needed to check for the symbol. To be sure. That meant haggling with this greasy con man.

A crazy idea crossed my mind. Dangerous. Irresponsible.

It worked before. Let’s put my nose to the test.

I’d promised not to do it, but desperate times call for desperate measures. We needed an edge. I spoke before I could chicken out.

“Do you have a bathroom?”

“What am I? A spa?” Bates cocked his head. “Use the Laundromat next door.”

“All by myself? Can’t I please use yours?”

“Unbelievable.” Eyes rolling, he pointed. “Through the beads.”

“Thank you!”

“Don’t touch nothing! I got cameras back there, too.”

My eyes widened.

“No, I don’t mean—not in the damn bathroom!” Bates rubbed his forehead. “Just keep your hands in your pockets, you hear?”

I hurried through the curtain, then listened to make sure Bates hadn’t followed. No way. He was busy pumping up the collection’s inestimable value. I locked myself in the bathroom.

Ready? Not really.

I shook out my limbs. Took several deep breaths. Closed my eyes. Reached.

SNAP.

The flare came easily, as if the wolf had been lurking just beneath the surface.

But not without pain.

My arms and legs quivered as the fire flowed through me. Lights strobed behind my eyeballs. I wanted to whimper, but clamped my jaw shut.

In silence I rode the wave of primal energy. Suffered the transformation.

My eyes snapped into hyperfocus. My body burned with visceral force. My ears hummed like a tuning fork.

Ready to rock.

Slipping on my sunglasses, I flushed the toilet and strode back through the beads. Nonchalant, but my heart was racing.

Bates was still working the boys. They seemed overwhelmed by the onslaught.

Seeing my shades, Shelton frowned. Then his eyes went saucer. He elbowed Hi, who elbowed Ben.

They knew.

“It’s way too bright in here,” I said.

Bates looked at me funny. His shop was lit like a cave.

Now! Before you lose control.

“Mr. Bates, I don’t think these are authentic,” I said. “Interesting, sure, but not worth much.”

“Child, please. These are rare, precious artifacts,” Bates insisted. “Extremely valuable. I bought ’em from a serious collector.”

“Really? Who? I think you got taken.”

“That’s my business, not yours.” He crossed arms the size of telephone poles. “Five hundred bones. Not a penny less.”

Bates’s poker face was impressive. I couldn’t get a read.

Luckily, I had other tools.

As discreetly as possible, I drew air through my nose. Sniffed. Sifted. When I found his scent, I nearly staggered backward.

Onions. Coffee. Garlic. Sweat trapped inside rolls of flesh. Cheap drugstore aftershave.

I coughed, violently, nearly losing my eyewear.

“You sick, girl?” Bates squinted.

Hi provided a distraction.

“Can you prove these papers are real?” he asked. “Show us some evidence? You keep documentation, right?”

“I don’t have to prove nothing, boy.” Impatient. “Buy ’em or not. If ya’ll don’t, somebody else will.”

Bracing myself, I inhaled again. The funk sickened me anew, but I kept control this time. My nose sorted, divided, categorized.

From beneath the stench, earthier scents emerged. One odor outweighed the others, salty and acrid, like a towel soaked in cat urine.

I named the smell, though I couldn’t say how.

Deception. Bates was lying.

“You believe this box is valuable?” I asked.

“Young lady, I know it.”

The acid reek increased.

Lie.

And now, another smell. Rank. Sickly. A little sweet.

Worry.

Bates was anxious we’d call his bluff.

Which is exactly what I did.

“No thanks, we’ll pass. You guys ready to go?”

“Wait now, hold on! I didn’t say we couldn’t work something out.” Bates ran a hand over his jaw. “Two-fifty.”

“Twenty bucks,” Hi hard-balled. “For everything.”

“Twenty dollars!?! That’s robbery!” Bates’s eyes narrowed to slits. “One-fifty.”

The twin odors rolled in waves.

“Thanks for your time.” I jerked my head toward the door. “Let’s bail.”

“Fine. One hundo. Final offer.”

A new scent appeared. Metallic. Hard. Like iron shavings.

Resolve. Bates wouldn’t go lower.

“Deal,” I said. “Shelton, pay the man.”

Shelton counted five twenties, about half of our available funds. Bates scribbled a receipt and handed the crate to Ben.

“Good luck with those ‘artifacts,’” Bates chuckled. “That box ain’t nothing but garbage. I paid twenty for the whole lot!”

“Think again,” Shelton shot back. “We already know the papers are real. Pretty dumb to put the map symbol right in your ad.”

Ben cuffed Shelton, but the damage was done.

“Say what?”

“Nothing,” Shelton mumbled. “I was just joking.”

“Map symbol?” Bates’s left eyebrow rose. “What chu’ mean, map?”

Nice job, Shelton!

I searched for a credible answer. Blanked. My blood pressure spiked.

SNUP.

The power dissolved. I swayed, but managed to keep my feet. Hi caught my arm.

“Clear?” Hi whispered.

Shaky nod.

“Steady. Don’t pass out.”

“I just need a sec.” My head spun like the teacups ride.

Bates’s face pinched in confusion. “How’d ya’ll know about my ad?” Then, with realization, came anger.

“Ya’ll played me!” he fumed. “Acting the fool, like ya didn’t know what ya came for! Bull-crap! Ya’ll wanted that box the whole time!”

Bates stormed over to Ben. “Forget this! No sale.”

“Too late.” Ben put a hand on the crate. “Deal’s a deal. You took the money. We have a receipt. Done.”

“Is that a fact?”

Ben didn’t blink.

“Fine!” Bates’s eyes were bulging like golf balls. “Get out my shop! And watch yourselves, this neighborhood ain’t safe. I’d run back home, if I was you.”

I was down with that. We hustled to the door.

“Wait!” Bates pointed at me. “Sign the receipt. Otherwise, the deal ain’t official.”

I hurried to the counter, jotted as fast as possible.

“Who sold you this box, anyway?” I asked.

“Piss off.”

“Hey!” Ben shouted. “Watch your mouth.”

Ben stepped toward the counter. Hi grabbed his arm as Shelton placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. Though furious, Ben allowed himself to be halted.

I joined the boys. “Let it go. We got what we came for.”

The others followed me toward the door.

“Can we get some buzz-out music, please?” Hi’s smile looked forced. Shelton’s hands were shaking. Time to bolt.

Bates watched us for a very long moment. Finally, his hand moved below the counter.

Buzz!

“Ya’ll don’t come back here. Ever.”

Not a problem.