The next few days passed the way they did before Lilla showed up—work, dinner with Dad, and practice in the yard.

The only new thing was Owen insisted we carry the throwing knives in my pocket and the bigger knife in my boot at all times. Now that we knew mimics were definitely here, he wanted to be prepared.

I kept waiting for news of a missing man and a picture of us strolling through town with a bag of bones. It hadn't happened, and Owen said it wouldn't. Still, Friday morning, I checked online again to make sure no one was looking for him.

"You can stop worrying about that. He probably wasn't known in town yet. The only ones that'll miss him are other mimics. They won't tell the police, and there's no way anyone knows it was us." Owen couldn't have been less concerned.

I set my phone down and leaned on the counter, sipping my coffee. "We could swing by your house after work and check on Lilla," I whispered in case Dad came downstairs.

"No. She'll be alright. We'll give her until tomorrow. Hopefully, she'll have a lead by then."

"I can tell you're worried."

"That chick takes care of herself, and they can't sneak up on her anyway."

Before I could argue, or point out that we didn't call girls chicks anymore, Dad strolled into the kitchen. "Ready to go?"

"Yep." I passed him his coffee cup, and we left the house.

***

That afternoon, we went out to lunch. As we sat in the diner, I tried to act normal for Dad's benefit, but my skin crawled as though I was being watched.

"Are you getting sick?" Dad asked. "I've never seen you leave half a burger on your plate."

Worry clouded his features, so I smiled. "No, I'm good. Just not hungry, I guess."

"Well, there's only one more stop, so we'll be finished soon. I'm going to the restroom. Back in a sec." He walked between the tables, and I studied everyone he passed.

When we were alone, Owen said, "What's wrong? You're looking around like you expect an ambush."

With my cell to my ear, I whispered, "I feel like someone's staring at me, but I can't find anything weird. Can you?"

"I only see what you see, but you've searched the room ten times. I think you're creeping yourself out over one dead mimic."

"You're probably right." I slid my phone in my pocket but couldn't stop the compulsion to scan the dining room and its customers again.

When Dad returned, I was happy to go. It was a relief when the uncomfortable sensation stayed with the diner, and the rest of the workday was normal.

***

We got home before four and went to the backyard to practice. Dad followed a few minutes later. "Thought I'd come to watch."

"You want to take a turn?" I held a knife handle toward him.

"Nah, maybe in a bit."

Dad stood there as I threw and made encouraging noises for a while before saying, "We should get you a real target."

"Nah, this works. Are you ready to give it another try?"

I held out the blades, and Dad took them. "Why not?" But his phone rang, and he gave them back as he checked the number. "Probably a work call." Walking away, he answered, "Hey! It's nice to hear from you."

I ignored the conversation as I practiced until I heard Dad mention my name. "You know Bash; he stays moving. You should see him. He's throwing knives at a target! Can you believe that? He's pretty good too!"

I wondered who he was talking to as Owen grumbled, "I hope he doesn't start spreading that around town. We don't want the attention."

"It's probably one of his buddies," I mumbled as I retrieved the knives.

Then Dad said, "He'd be happy to help. Can you use one more? I may be getting old, but I still have some pep." He cracked up as the person on the phone spoke. "You're right, I've put my time in. If you have enough helpers, I'll stay here and relax. Sure thing, bye."

"Where am I going?" I asked when Dad hung up.

"Coach Rick needs some help over at the school."

"Why's he there? Isn't he off for the summer?"

"Yeah, but they're having the gym repainted while the kids are out. The guys that were supposed to help empty the weight room canceled. He thought since you spent enough time there, you might do him a favor."

"Sure. I don't mind." I pocketed the knives and followed Dad into the house.

Owen said, "While we're out, we should hunt in town."

"I might hang out in town tonight," I told Dad. "So I'll be late."

"Okay, son, have fun. Call me if you need me, otherwise, I'll see you in the morning." He patted my shoulder as he strolled to the living room.

On the drive, Owen said, "So this guy we're helping was your coach?"

"Yep, for track. The meets are pretty long, so he and Dad talked a lot. I wasn't in weight lifting because they reserved those spots for the football team, but Coach let me use the equipment before and after school."

"So that's how we got stuck moving stuff around."

"It won't be so bad. Consider it a workout."

"Sometimes you're annoyingly positive."

I grinned as I pulled into the huge vacant parking lot and hopped out of the truck. Striding across the pavement, I studied the two story brick building and a sense of familiarity settled over me. I had to remind myself that I wasn't a student anymore.

"This place is twice as big as the school I remember," Owen said.

"They built this about twenty years ago and made the old one a DMV."

Owen didn't respond as I opened the dark blue metal door. My soles squeaked on the freshly waxed wood floors as I strode through the deserted gym and down the hall.

I strolled across the weight room and waved at Coach Rick through the big window that separated his office from the smelly area. Somehow it reeked of sweat, even after weeks of being empty.

"Come on back here, Bash," he yelled from his seat behind the rusted brown desk.

I entered the familiar space with a smile. "How ya doing, Coach?"

"I'm good, better now that I'll have some more help. Thanks for coming. A friend of mine should be here any second, and we'll get started."

"Sounds great." I sat on a chair facing him.

"So, how has summer been so far? Done anything exciting?"

I let out a little laugh. "No, not really. Just working for Dad."

"And learning how to hunt and kill monsters, no biggie," Owen said.

I ignored Owen and focused on Coach Rick; he made it easy; he was a talker. "Well, I'm sure that makes Marc happy. Not many parents come to every track meet, especially cross-country. There isn't much to watch. I was sure glad he came; it gave me someone to talk to."

"Dad enjoyed hanging out at the meets. He probably would've been happier if I'd played something that was more fun to root for, though." I chuckled.

Shaking his head, Coach said, "I wouldn't be so sure. I've never seen a dad more proud of his kid in any sport. Although, being the fastest in everything from the hundred meters to cross-country is impressive. The team won't do as well without you this year."

My cheeks warmed. "Thanks, Coach."

"Are you blushing? That's adorable." Owen snickered. "I didn't know you were that fast though; right on, man."

I nodded once in response to Owen's praise as Coach leaned to look over my shoulder, through the door behind me. "Ah, here comes Charlie."

I shifted in my seat, and a man swaggered through the weight room toward us. My stomach clenched as if my body sensed the danger before I did.

At the exact second it clicked in my brain, Owen yelled, "He's a mimic! Switch now!"

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