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“Look at me! I’m still not changing! What do you intend to do about this?” I was angry now. Nothing of my usual calm present. “Rest assured. I couldn’t help staring, even if I didn’t want to.” His eyes moved up and down along my body, and the comment did only serve to anger me further. “Shut up! I’m in no mood for your stupid wits. Change me back, or I’ll see if the principal might help me instead. I know they have no love to spare for your… unconventional methods.” For a fleeting fraction of a second, I thought I could see a glimpse of fear and uncertainty in his soul, but he quickly composed himself. “They cannot help you, and you know it. Your only option is to trust me. I’ll do everything I can to help you, but in the meantime, you must stay here.” “That’s not good enough. I have given you my life, and all you can offer in return is empty promises? I should kill you for this!” I sneered at him with my white fangs and flexed my claws. “… if you weren’t my only hope at. Moe retraced his steps, jiggling windows that had no lights and avoiding those that did. He came up empty until, just for kicks, he followed a concrete sidewalk that led to a side door. The outer screen door was latched, but the inner door was cracked open. Moe pulled out a penknife and, with the open blade, lifted up the hook and eased it out of the eye. It made a small tinkling sound. He glanced around, checking for Al and Gus. Boch’s boys were no where in sight. With the coast clear, he opened the screen and shoved past the inside door. Inside was a small mudroom – farm sink with an oversized basin on one side, a potter’s bench on the other. Beyond the mudroom was a corridor with dark mahogany ceiling and side panels. From a kitchen off to the left, Moe heard the banging of pots, the baritone voice of a man lauding the praises of russet potatoes for a hot potato salad, and the giggling voice of a female. The right corridor was longer, with low-key lighting. Moe stepped into it.
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