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are.
    â€œJean-Claude told me to wait for you.” His voice was soft, hesitant. There was something about him, an almost childlike appeal. Besides I’m a sucker for a pair of pretty eyes.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” I asked. Always like to know who I’m dealing with.
    His smile widened. “Stephen; my name is Stephen.” He put out his hand, and I took it. His hand was soft but firm, no manual labor butsome weightlifting. Not too much. Enough to firm, not explode. Men my size should not do serious weightlifting. It may look okay in a bathing suit, but in regular clothes you look like a deformed dwarf.
    â€œFollow me, please.” He sounded like a waiter, but when he walked into the crowd, I followed him.
    He led the way towards a huge blue tent. It was like an old-fashioned circus tent. I’d only seen one in pictures or the movies.
    There was a man in a striped coat yelling, “Almost showtime, folks! Present your tickets and come inside! See the world’s largest cobra! Watch the fearsome serpent be taken through amazing feats by the beautiful snake charmer Shahar. We guarantee it will be a show you will never forget.”
    There was a line of people giving their tickets to a young woman. She tore them in half and handed back the stubs.
    Stephen walked confidently along the line without waiting. We got some dirty looks, but the girl nodded to us. And in we went.
    Tiers of bleachers ran up to the top of the tent. It was huge. Nearly all the seats were full. A sold-out show. Wowee.
    There was a blue rail that formed a circle in the middle. A one-ring circus.
    Stephen scooted past the knees of about a dozen people to a set of steps. Since we were at the bottom, up was the only way to go. I followed Stephen up the concrete stairs. The tent may have looked like a circus tent, but the bleachers and stairs were permanent. A mini-coliseum.
    I have bad knees, which means that I can run on a flat surface but put me on a hill, or stairs, and it hurts. So I didn’t try to keep up with Stephen’s smooth, running glide. I did watch the way his jeans fit his snug little behind, though. Looking for clues.
    I unzipped the leather jacket but didn’t take it off. My gun would show. Sweat glided down my spine. I was going to melt.
    Stephen glanced over his shoulder to see if I was following, or maybe for encouragement. He flashed a smile that was just lips curling back from teeth, almost a snarl.
    I stopped in the middle of the steps, watching his lithe form glide upward. There was an energy to Stephen as if the air boiled invisibly around him. A shapeshifter. Some lycanthropes are better than othersat hiding what they are. Stephen wasn’t that good. Or maybe he just didn’t care if I knew. Possible.
    Lycanthropy was a disease, like AIDS. It was prejudice to mistrust someone for an accident. Most people survived attacks to become shapeshifters. It wasn’t a choice. So why didn’t I like Stephen as well, now that I knew? Prejudiced, moi?
    He waited at the top of the stairs, still pretty as a picture, but the air of energy contained in too small a space, like his motor was on high idle, shimmered around him. What was Jean-Claude doing with a shapeshifter on his payroll? Maybe I could ask him.
    I stepped up beside Stephen. There must have been something in my face, because he said, “What’s wrong?”
    I shook my head. “Nothing.”
    I don’t think he believed me. But he smiled and led me towards a booth that was mostly glass with heavy curtains on the inside hiding whatever lay behind. It looked for all the world like a miniature broadcast booth.
    Stephen went to the curtained door and opened it. He held it for me, motioning me to go first.
    â€œNo, you first,” I said.
    â€œI’m being a gentleman here,” he said.
    â€œI don’t need or want doors opened for me. I’m quite capable, thank you.”
    â€œA feminist, my,