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Hailey pressed.
    “Oh, it was definitely stupid,” Icarus agreed, dodging the question.
    “That’s not—”
    “Hand me the iodine, Hailey, would you please?” said Icarus, holding out his hand.  Hailey stared suspiciously then handed Icarus the iodine and a clean swab of gauze.
    “So that’s why you ran off into the woods last night.  It all makes sense, Icarus, why he was chasing her.  I mean, at first he probably just wanted to stop her, but she fell a few times.  You did, didn’t you?” Hailey said, turning the attention back to me.  “You fell.  That’s why you’re your hands were all scraped up.  And the smell of the blood; it was like a siren’s song.  You most likely stimulated his instinct to hunt, and then like I said, the smell of your blood probably sent him over the edge and he shifted.”
    Hunt ?  Shift?  I couldn’t help it.  I snorted a laugh.  “You’ve an imagination like my brother.  He stays up all the time watching Grindhouse.  Gingersnap is his favorite.  Personally, American Werewolf in London is the best.  It’s a cult classic.”
    Hailey’s eyes narrowed.  “You think I’m joking.”
    “Well, yeah, seriously, werewolves ?”  My eyes flickered between the two of them, taking in their grim expressions.  “It was a dog,” I told them, firmly.  “One with rabies if I had to guess.  You should’ve taken me to the hospital.  In fact, you should take me now.  I can call my parents on the way.”
    “Hailey, wait outside,” Icarus ordered.  Peeling the last of the dressing from my neck, he folded neatly in half and in half again before dropping it into the small waste basket.  “Now.”
    Hailey gazed balefully at me for a brief moment before nodding and vacating the room.  Honestly, her reaction disturbed me.  I expected her to break out into an uproarious guffaw or considering her size and age, a mischievous giggle might be more realistic.  But I hadn’t expected the hate I found in her eyes.  Admittedly, it made my stomach curl.
    “You don’t really expect me to believe this.”
    “Look at your hands Thaleia.”
    I did.  The dirt had been scrubbed from my hands, but evidence of the incident remained under my nails.  They were impacted with dirt and blood.  Yet, flipping my hands over to look again at my palms, I was bewildered to find them unscathed.  Hours before they were covered in abrasions, my skin torn and jagged and bleeding.  Moreover, my arms were unmarked, free of any bites and scrapes inflicted during my fight with the dog in the dark woods.
    Collecting my attention, Icarus retrieved from the dresser, a small silver hand mirror.  This he kept facing his chest as moved in front of me.  Watching me carefully, studying my frame of mind, he sat on the edge of the bed, his knees brushing mine.  It was an impulsive reaction, but I reached for my neck.  Icarus seized my hand in his, before I could touch my wounds.  He didn’t let it go as he raised the mirror upright.
    I stared for a stretch of time, silent.  Several emotions washed over me.  Shock.  Disbelief. Horror.  Confusion.  Returning to horror.  It was overwhelming.  Tears sprung from my eyes.  I struggled to keep my breaths even, inhaling deeply and out again.  I even closed my eyes, but when I reopened them, nothing had changed.  Ribbons of pink tissue and silvery sinew ran the length of my neck and into my shoulder.  Peeking from between several jagged flaps of loose flesh, I could see my clavicle.  I even glimpsed my carotid artery, a deep, rich blue against the bright red blood escaping a much smaller capillary in the deepest cavity of my wound.
    I looked like Jack fucking Goodman.
    Having seen enough, I pushed the mirror away.  My whole body began to shake.  My face grew cold.  Beads of sweat broke out across my forehead. “I’m think going to be sick,” I murmured, lips pinched and white.  I dragged the back of my hand across my face, squirming in