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“They’re painting the dojo.” he said.

I would also have asked why he had a phone in his room, but he wasn’t my kid. I mean, sixteen was a little young for your own phone, wasn’t it?

“I placed first in the karate tournament last Saturday,” he said.

“Congratulations,” I said.

“It’s not like real fighting, not like you and Edward do, but it’s still cool.”

“I’ve never won first place in a martial arts tournament of any kind, Peter. You’re doing good.”

“But you have a black belt in judo, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re training in other martial arts, right?”

“Yeah, but…”

“A tournament is just kid stuff, I know, but Edward says I have to wait until I’m at least old enough to sign up for military service before he’ll take me on anything real.”

I did not like the sound of that at all. “Eighteen, right.”

“Yeah”—he sighed so heavily—“two years.” He made two years sound like forever. I guess at sixteen it is.

I wanted to tell him that there were other lives to live that had nothing to do with fighting, guns, or violence. I wanted to tell him that he couldn’t follow in his almost-stepfather’s footsteps, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t my place to say it, and Peter wouldn’t have listened anyway. I was in the same business as his “dad,” so I was cool, too.

“Is Ted there?”

“Anita,” and he sounded chiding, “I know his real name.”

“Yes, but you’re right, I should never have said Edward when calling this number. It should be Ted until I’m sure who I’m talking to. I’m practicing.”

He laughed again. I didn’t think I was that funny. “Ted’s here.” I heard that slide of cloth again. “Though at eight on a day we don’t have school, Mom and Ted are probably still in bed.” He must have rolled over to look at a clock.

“I didn’t mean to call this early,” I said, “I’ll call back later.”

His voice sobered. “What’s wrong, Anita? You sound all stressed.”

Great, I couldn’t even control my voice enough to fool a teenage boy. Truth was, I’d finally realized that I wasn’t just asking Edward to come hunt monsters, I was asking him to leave his family to come hunt monsters. Edward used to live to find bad things that could test his skills. He lived to be better, faster, meaner, quicker, more deadly than the monsters he hunted. Then he’d met Donna, and suddenly he had other things to live for. I wasn’t sure he’d ever walk down the aisle with her, but he was the only father the kids had, and the only husband Donna had. Her first husband had been killed by a werewolf. An eight-year-old Peter had picked up his father’s dropped gun and finished off the wounded shapeshifter. He’d saved his family while his father’s body was still twitching on the floor. In some ways Edward fit in just fine. Edward picked Becca up from ballet class, for God’s sake. But…but what if I got him killed? What if I got him killed and Peter and Becca lost another parent because I was too chickenshit to handle my own mess?

“Anita, Anita, are you there?”

“Yeah, yeah, Peter, I’m here.”

“You sound strange, like, scared almost.”

Peter was too damned perceptive for comfort sometimes. “I just…” Oh, hell, what could I say that would fix this? “Let Edward sleep in, don’t wake them.”

“Something’s wrong, I can hear it in your voice. You called because you’re in trouble. That’s it, isn’t it?” he asked.

“I’m not in trouble,” I said. In my head, I added, yet.

Silence on his end of the phone for a heartbeat. “You’re lying to me.” He sounded accusatory.

“Well, that’s a hell of a thing to say,” I said, with as much indignation as I could muster. I wasn’t lying, not really, I was just fudging the truth. Okay, fudging like double chocolate with three kinds of nuts, but it still wasn’t completely a lie.

“Your word, your word of honor,” he said in a very serious voice. “Tell me you didn’t call to get Edward’s help with some nasty monster problem.”

Shit. “You know you’re being a pain in the ass here,” I said.

“I’m sixteen. I’m supposed to be a pain in the ass, or that’s what Mom says. Give me your word that you’re not lying to me,