9
Foxfire
“Sorry,” I say as we drive over, following the brightly painted VW bus my mom calls Daisy. “I should’ve warned you about her.”
“Has she always been this way?”
“When I was sixteen, she met the guy who wanted to take me to prom, gave him a box of condoms and a candle shaped like the Minoan fertility goddess.”
Tank winces. I shrug. “I was used to her by then. She’s a big believer in free love.”
“So, your father…”
“They were twin flames.” I mimic Sunny’s airy tones. “Souls destined to meet. They met at some sort of festival, I think.”
“So he could be the shifter.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. My mom’s anonymous sperm donor, aka Dear Old Dad, gave me more than gray eyes and the tendency to burn in the sun.
Inside the trailer, Tank and I clean up while Sunny bustles about making gr
