Grace of a Wolf
Chapter 172: Grace: Theories

Chapter 172: Grace: Theories

By the time the tow truck comes and goes and I’ve made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for all the adults (only to find out Caine likes grape jelly like a psychopath), I’m calm again.

We’re out. It didn’t happen to us. And right now, that’s my focus.

Besides, despite having lucked out onto a wide shoulder like this, I’m still a little worried a car’s going to crash into us. With our current streak of luck, it isn’t a baseless concern.

Andrew dangles a piece of crust in front of Sadie, who’s been sitting in front of him with begging eyes since he first started eating. He seems both nonplussed and enthralled by her.

At first, it was weird. But then I thought about it. Wolves never get to spend time with dogs, so they’ve never had the Sadie experience.

Her tail swishes against the floor as she gingerly snatches it from his fingers, only to then scarf it down like a feral beast.

Then he gets a second bit of crust out, dangling it in front of the dog.

"Don’t feed her that!"

Andrew freezes mid-motion, the crust hovering between his fingers and Sadie’s expectant mouth. "Why not?"

Sadie’s eyes lock with mine. Her tail stops wagging. I’ve destroyed her doggy Christmas.

"Because we don’t know what’s up with her." I take another bite of my sandwich, chewing slowly as I frown at the dog. She’s cute, but knowing there’s something strange about her... it’s hard to see her as just a big, loveable ball of fur.

But so far, aside from her lack of fear, she’s just... a normal dog.

Too normal.

Shouldn’t she want to go back home? Why is she so comfortable in a stranger’s car? And now she’s going in and out of the camper with us like she’s been part of the family forever.

"It’s just a dog, Grace." Andrew shrugs and drops the crust anyway. Sadie’s tail resumes its happy rhythm as she snatches the offering.

"She’s not just a dog," I mutter.

When I’d asked what Sadie actually was, Lyre had danced around the subject. She did say the dog wasn’t any sort of threat, and might actually be helpful. How a dopey golden retriever’s going to somehow help our little caravan has yet to be realized, though.

But the kids like her. So I guess there’s that.

Come to think of it, Lyre gave no explanation about what happened to Archie and Doris—just reiterated Owen’s claim that they’re not dead and leaving them there will be fine.

Which, of course, makes zero logical sense, but I’m coming to think of this as the App Phenomenon. Anything under its purview is on a need to know basis.

Though I still don’t understand why an old couple who like to barbecue have anything to do divinities and Chaos.

And Caine’s been no help with dragging information out of Lyre. I’d thought he’d be pushier, demand answers, but the moment the magic words came out of her mouth, he was done. It just took the one phrase: "They have nothing to do with Grace, and they’re not a danger to you."

After that, his focus had instantly shifted back to us—to me—with his intense, single-minded concentration. He’d even said, "If it’s not a threat to Grace or the children, it’s not my concern right now," without even a flicker of discomfort over saying a line I’d read out of a sappy romance novel somewhere.

But it should be his concern. It should be everyone’s concern when two seemingly normal people turn out to be something strange and dead-but-not-dead. In my world, we call those zombies, thank you very much. And zombies bring uprisings and the apocalypse.

"Why are you mad at Sadie?" Sara asks, popping up by my elbow. I blink, realizing I’ve been glaring at the dog while aggressively masticating.

I swallow my bite. "I’m not mad at her."

"You keep staring at her like you are."

Andrew snorts. "More like she’s trying to decide if Sadie’s secretly plotting world domination."

He’s come late to the game, so he doesn’t know why I’m suspicious of the dog. I could always fill him in—and would—but dragging him into another room to explain something sounds like a bad idea.

For him, anyway.

"Well, maybe she is," I mutter.

Sara flounces away to approach Sadie, running a hand over her golden fur. "Look! She’s such a nice dog."

Caine chooses that moment to duck his head into the camper, filling the doorway. His eyes sweep the interior, cataloging all of us in his quick, assessing way before landing on me. "Everything alright in here?"

"Grace thinks Sadie is an alien," Jer pipes up from where he’s sprawled on the couch.

"I never said that." I break eye contact with Caine, feeling heat creep into my cheeks.

His gaze shifts to Sadie, who meets his stare with unflinching calm. Her tongue lolls happily. She looks like a poster child for retrievers everywhere. "Lyre said she isn’t dangerous. Do you not believe her?"

"I do. I just think it’s weird and suspicious she’s sticking around us. What if she’s a magnet for trouble?"

"She’s a dog," Andrew interjects again. "She can’t be that bad."

Sadie whines, and I’m convinced she not only knows we’re talking about her, but she can understand every word we’re saying.

Maybe she’s a shifter like the children?

It would make sense. She loves them, and there’s certainly no rule saying dog shifters don’t exist. I mean, Sara can turn into a hedgehog, and all of these kids are able to shift well before the standard age of sixteen.

Maybe the old people were like Owen, saving a little soulspliced shifter who prefers to live as a dog.

The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Caine had said something about the old people smelling a little like Owen. And when Jer was freaking out, it was Owen who came to explain they weren’t dead.

Yep.

Sadie’s a soulspliced child.

I just know it.

But how to prove it?