"Let me see your face," said Autumn.
"All right, all right. Geez."
It seemed like hours before Zenda appeared on Autumn's phone. The elder Mercer daughter held the phone tilted down in the typical selfie pole position. She waved. Fluttered her eyelids.
"There you go. Through the magic of technology, here I am in all my glory, twenty crow's feet deep. Happy?"
"You don't sound happy."
"Are you alone?"
"'Am I alone?' Um. Do you mean in the practical, physical aspect of aloneness or are you delving deeper, like, philosophically, yes, I am alone the same way we're all alone, little sister."
"Where are you?"
"At work. Trying to be productive."
"You're in Portland?"
"Do you have a gun?"
"'Do I have a...' Ok. No. Now, right now, Autumn, tell me what the fuck, I mean, seriously, what the fuck is going on? You're being weird like Uncle Jim weird, and I can tell you, we really don't need another were-schizophrenic in the clan."