Chaos Bites by Lori Handeland

but she needs to wear something. If she doesn’t, you’ll stand out. Running around with a kid who obviously has nothing to her name but what can be bought at the nearest grocery store makes it seem like you snatched her.”
    I hadn’t thought of that.
    “Fine. Grab whatever and put it on her.”
    Megan reached into the suitcase then tossed something pink—was everything Anna had ever owned pink?—in my direction. “You need to get used to taking care of her.”
    I examined what appeared to be a fancy T-shirt. Snaps at the bottom, short sleeves, lace around the neck. Not a single animal insignia that I could see.
    I tossed the garment at Luther, but he was still feeding the baby. The piece of clothing hit him in the face.
    “What the hell?” he asked.
    “Language,” I said absently. “Put that on her when she’s done eating.”
    “Nope.” He set the bottle on nightstand and laid Faith on the bed. “I’m a guy. She’s not.”
    “She’s a baby.”
    A shadow passed over his face. “That doesn’t matter to a lot of people,” he said, then he walked out.
    Luther had been the victim of an even more unpleasant experience in foster care than I had. He’d torn one of his foster fathers into pieces and strewn him around the backyard. From what I’d seen of Luther’s past when I’d touched him, the guy had gotten off easy.
    “The world is sick,” Megan murmured.
    “You have no idea.”
    “Let’s keep it that way,” Megan said. “You’d better burp her before she starts to cry again.” At my expression Megan appeared both amused and exasperated. “Pick her up, put her on your shoulder, pat her back until she burps.”
    Suddenly Megan’s eyes widened, and she took two fast steps toward the bed. I spun, but Faith was still in the center; she’d just flipped from her back to her belly then pushed up on her hands so she could watch us.
    “She’s okay,” I said, as much for my own comfort as Megan’s.
    “Yeah,” Megan said slowly. “Except . . .”
    “Except what?” I sat on the bed, checking for pins, staples, something that might explain Megan’s concern.
    “She shouldn’t be able to do that.”
    “Do what?” As far as I could tell the kid was great at crying and drooling, but not much else.
    “Turn over, push up, lift her head like that. She’s what? Two? Three months old?”
    “I have no clue how old she is.” But now that Megan mentioned it, this morning Faith’s head had been kind of floppy. I’d had to support it when I held her. She appeared to be gaining abilities at the speed of light.
    “Maybe she’s just small for her age,” Megan said, though she didn’t sound convinced.
    Neither was I. Faith was a skinwalker. For all I knew she might be a teenager by next week, and wouldn’t that be swell?
    Or maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Teenagers I could manage, bad attitudes and all. I had a nasty bad attitude of my own.
    “Burp her,” Megan ordered again. “Make sure you do it every time she eats or you’ll be sorry.”
    Since I was already sorry, I did as I was told and was rewarded with a belch that would make an NFLlineman proud.
    Megan packed the bottle and the diapers into the bag. “You’re going to call me more often, right?”
    “Sure.”
    She lifted an eyebrow. “No, you aren’t.”
    “I might.” I juggled the baby and the diaper bag. Faith showed her displeasure by spitting white goo onto my neck. “I’m no good at this, Meg. I’m gonna need advice.”
    “First tip, wipe the gack off your neck.” She handed me a tissue.
    “I could have figured that out for myself.” I swiped the spittle into the tissue and handed it back.
    Megan put her hand on my arm. “I’ll be right here. Anytime you need me. Twenty-four seven.”
    “I know.” I headed for the stairs before she hugged me or something. I was no damn good at PDAs. They made me twitchy.
    Luther had put the baby’s suitcase in the trunk. He stood on the small strip of grass between the sidewalk