Victor, in his history of dating, had a type. He didn't say that he had a type, but every boyfriend he'd had had been the same. Before David, they'd been safe. A little boring. People like him who had no real ambition beyond sitting in the parlor room at noon and drinking tea. David had been the outlier, a man who had come along at a time when Victor had needed something different. Something that wasn't what Victor had grown up with and was surrounded by.

David had been dangerous, darkly handsome, confident, a predator's sway to his movements that had utterly captivated Victor.

But in the end, it hadn't worked. David had been too wrapped up in issues of blood and s.e.x tangling together, and Victor had gotten too addicted to the same. And everything Victor had wanted with David-the danger, the darkness, the chaos-had seemed too dangerous. He still recalled perfectly that night in Cairo where David had nearly drained him. Victor remembered laughing, being so high on adrenaline that he wouldn't have cared if he'd lived or died.

And a small part of him still craved that. Though David was gone, and Victor tried to keep telling himself it was for the better, he still couldn't stand the thought of going back to a boring life and boring boyfriends who asked how his day went and wanted nothing more than to come home from work and watch the television for a bit before going to bed. The thought of domesticity, of settling down, was horrifying.

So as he looked at Randall, Victor couldn't help but try to place the man into one of those two categories, dangerous or safe. He found he couldn't. On the surface, Randall was mild mannered and soft-spoken, tentative in the way he approached most things. But there was an undercurrent of strength that Victor found himself fascinated by. A firmness to Randall's words, a dedication to his pa.s.sions, the protectiveness of his brothers.

Randall was a wolf. There was no way he could fit in the boring and safe category. And yet he was sitting there reading a book ent.i.tled j.a.panese Water Demon Myths.

Shifting slightly beside him, Randall looked over just in time to catch Victor's gaze.

Victor didn't think anything of it at first, idly noting that Randall had quite nice eyes, a dark hazel that seemed lighter when the sun caught them. He didn't notice the sound fading out around him. Only when his vision started blurring around the edges did he catch on, and fear spiked through him. There was no time to do anything other than shove himself away from Randall as far as he could, trying to brace himself on the opposite edge of the seat, and then- Safety. Warmth. A small cabin in the woods near a lake. Small, but full of love, of hugs good night, of silly bedtime songs. Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle. Forks running away with spoons. He was happy. Randall was happy with Anthony, with a mother and a father. With Edwin, barely able to walk, unsteady legs, two and then four.

Running through the woods, following Anthony. Chasing the moon.

Coming home to find Edwin hiding under the bed. Randall didn't know why, knew that something bad had happened. Anthony telling him to stay back. Blood on the kitchen floor when he caught a glimpse over his brother's shoulder, Mom and Dad lying so still.

Living in the woods, knowing that his parents weren't coming back but not understanding why. Anthony hunting to feed them, keeping them alive and warm and safe, the three of them living mostly as wolves in the forest for a few years since none of them were old enough to get jobs. Never quite sleeping, because the men with guns might come for them next. The hunters might take Anthony away if he closed his eyes. In a cave then, curled up together, three wolves huddled against the winter cold.

A larger cabin. Helping Anthony, sneaking books from the library on how to build houses. He walked in the first time, to a sanctuary filled with books and things he could learn about, and he never wanted to leave. Randall found, there, every friend he'd wanted, every life he'd dreamed of, every country and every culture and every possibility given ink and paper. He'd spent hours there, that first day, and went back as often as he could. But his first book had been a guide to building a cabin out of logs, and he'd spent the next month chopping trees. He was all of eight, and he helped his twelve-year-old brother build their home.

Randall going to school, getting there early in the hopes the teacher would impart more lessons before the bell rang. Edwin getting homeschooled because he couldn't sit in a confined cla.s.sroom for too long. Anthony working, lying about his age to get jobs. Growing up depending on each other for everything, sharing every ch.o.r.e.

Years pa.s.sing, faster, school and books and college, finally. Acceptance to his chosen university after two years of saving, two years of local courses. Coming home with the letter to find his brother's hands shaking so badly he couldn't open the envelope. Doctors and tests and too many questions. Faking the paperwork so they could leave without giving too much away.

Cairo. He shouldn't have gone, but it was his last chance, his final escape. It was his dream, and the program had taken him out of hundreds of applicants. Fear. Blood. Pain. Good doggy. Chains.

"Victor? He's not responding. Anthony, hand me that water. Victor, can you hear me?"

The face of the man who had saved him. Pale and exhausted, a bandage wrapped around his neck. The bustle of the airport around them. His Beatrice, leading him through heaven.

Then- Possibilities. Arcing off into the distance like threads vanishing into the mist, only Victor could push that mist back, could see exactly where those threads ended, if they were cut or frayed or burned at the edges. Colors twined around each other, memories and emotions.

Anthony growing sicker. Wasting away. Dying. Randall and Edwin alone at their brother's grave. Randall going off to try to live, guilt eating at him, souring every attempt. Every start became an end, at the same grave. Bitter, alone, grieving.

More death. Hunters. A hole through Randall's chest. His head. Over and over, the threads ended in him falling, young and innocent and simply gone.

One of those had Randall in Victor's arms when the bullet came. Blood spattering Victor's cheek, his gla.s.ses, as Randall gasped in pain. As he reached out. Apologies, only half said before the dark end.

Or- There were other men. Happy, holding hands, tuxes and flowers and cake and family. Some of them stayed, some of them faded, but those threads didn't burn as bright as- In bed, while flares of red and yellow from the bonfire lit up the room. Randall smiling, eyes reflecting the bursts from outside the window. Victor kissing him, soft, then urgent, fumbling together for the first time, for many times to come. Tuxes and flowers and cake and family. Anthony better. Anthony worse. Anthony gone, Randall clinging to Victor by a gravesite. Older then, with children. With Edwin coming over for dinners. With no one but themselves. Age finding them, white haired and holding hands, sitting on a long pier and looking out over the ocean.

And then- Something dark in the distance in all the possible futures, but so far off that Victor barely grasped the sensation of it.

Then- "Victor!" There was water splashed in his face, a hand shaking his shoulder. Jed's voice, sounding like it was very far away and once removed, calling him back. "Come on, princess, wakey-wakey."

There was some kind of material shoved in Victor's mouth, clamped between his teeth as his muscles shook, trembling out a last few painful spasms. He tried to make a noise, tried to tell them he was quite okay, thank you very much. He didn't need to be fussed over.

He scrambled out of the van, fell heavily on the ground beside the road, and threw up.

Wonderful.

Randall was next to him a few moments later, rubbing his back soothingly, handing him a fresh bottle of water. The man didn't say anything at first, more concerned with taking his coat from where it had been in the car, obviously discarded when Anthony had woken, and wrapping it around Victor's shoulders. After a moment, Randall asked, worried, "Are you all right? Do you have something you need, medication or... or something I can do to help?"

Victor fumbled with the water bottle as he tried to open it, but he managed to twist the top off, swishing the water around in his mouth before spitting it into the gra.s.s. Christ, he needed to brush his teeth.

At least he seemed to be coherent and cognizant. He hadn't snapped. Yet.

"There's medication in my bag," he managed, lifting the water bottle to press against his forehead. The coolness of it sent waves of relief through the pain throbbing in his temples. "It's in blue packaging. For migraines."

Randall scrambled back to the van. Redford was immediately there to take his place, hovering in front of Victor and helping him move to sit on the running board in the open door of the van. Jed was standing a slight distance away, Edwin and Anthony beside him, watching Victor carefully.

"You really need to stop doing that," Redford said quietly. "You've probably never seen what you look like, but your eyes roll back and you seize. It's terrifying. And sometimes you make these noises, like you're scared or angry."

"Yeah, like a pea soup spewing freak show," Jed interjected, arms folded over his chest, squinting at Victor as if he was trying to figure him out. Possibly there was concern there too, but Victor was too busy trying to not have his head explode to look for it. "So, you know. Cut that s.h.i.t out."

"Here, take this." Randall's soft voice came from over his shoulder. The pills were pressed into Victor's hands, followed by the toothbrush and toothpaste Randall had obviously found in Victor's bag. "Just, uh, I wasn't sure if you wanted those, but I thought you might."

Victor slowly took the pills, trying not to move his head too much. He managed to unscrew the toothpaste cap, which he counted as a personal victory. "No, I think you may be a mind reader," he said, barely whispering. He figured out the mechanics of brushing ones teeth without access to a tap and basin-toothpaste on the brush, a bit of water from the bottle, brush and spit. It was hardly dignified, but it got the horrendous taste out of his mouth.

He could hear Redford and Jed talking lowly, but Victor stayed right where he was, waiting for the pills to start to kick in. So far, none of the Lewises had demanded answers, though Victor had a feeling Edwin was only being contained by the force of Randall's glare. Minutes later, Victor estimated, the pain in his temples finally began to die down, and he gave a groan of relief, cradling his head in his hands.

"I'm so terribly sorry," he said, trying to raise his voice to be heard by everyone. Especially Jed, who Victor was sure was likely staring at the clock and being none too happy that they were losing driving time. "It was an accident."

He was normally so careful. Ever since he'd first learned about his ability, he'd had to get used to the idea of never meeting the eyes of another human being. He'd had accidents, a few of them when he was young, but Victor normally kept such rigid control over where he directed his eyes that he hadn't had an accident in years.

And even though he'd go insane from it one day, even though his mind would crack and he'd no longer be himself, Victor still remembered the eye contact fondly. A little piece of human connection that most took for granted. A little piece of knowledge that n.o.body else had. He craved it, a little. That knowing. It was like, despite the pain, despite the threat of madness, in that small moment he was fulfilling something he needed to become.

"I'll be right in a few minutes," he continued, raising his head to squint at them. "Just as soon as I'm sure that I'm not going to vomit in the van." He was sure Jed would appreciate that.

Out of the corner his eye, he caught sight of Anthony, and the pang that hit his chest surprised even him. For a moment, Victor wasn't sure where the emotion had come from-until he saw, in his mind's eye, the moment that Randall had realized his older brother was sick, and the worry that had come from that. Remembering that tipped his mind in the direction of the future threads he'd seen, and- Well, one of those was not the sort of thing he'd expected to see.

He'd been married to Randall. Not only that, but they'd adopted children, they'd grown old together in the most perfect, normal, picket fence life that Victor could ever imagine.

The thought made him slightly queasy. It was nothing against Randall. It was the thought of two-point-five children and a perfectly idyllic, perfectly boring life that didn't sound like all that great of an ideal to Victor. It wasn't what he wanted out of life. He wouldn't have dated David if he'd wanted a little white house and a dog. Or a wolf, as it were.

"Right, I feel like I'm not going to fall over," he announced, bracing against the edge of the van to push himself to his feet. He nearly tripped over Knievel, scowling when the cat hissed at him and darted away. Randall was next to him instantly, leaving off the argument he'd been having with Jed over pulling out his battery-operated hot plate to make a pot of tea, slipping an arm around his waist to help support him. The man blushed, the tips of his ears turning bright red, but he very gently, very carefully, helped Victor into a seat.

The sheer contentment that settled inside Victor's chest was alarming. This was the worst part of his visions, the way those memories and possibilities broke off inside his mind and left little shards that remained. Thankfully, as Randall had not lived nearly as long as David had, this time around it wasn't quite as disorienting.

"You shouldn't be moving," Randall chided softly, crouching down next to him, fussing with a washrag that he was pouring cold water over. He even fished out some ice from the cooler and wrapped that inside of it, hushing Victor's protests and easing him to lean forward so he could wrap the wet cloth around the back of his neck. "Just close your eyes. Jed is going to stop at the first place we can find, and I'll get you some tea. Do you need anything else?"

"You sound like you've dealt with migraines before," Victor said, reaching up to press the cold cloth tighter to his skin.

There was a brief fumbled movement, an awkward clearing of Randall's throat, and then his fingers, light and unsure, touched Victor's temples. "I used to get them a lot," he said lowly, voice pitched into a rea.s.suring rumble as he rubbed circles against Victor's skin. The light pressure combined with the cool cloth was absolutely heavenly, and Victor found himself leaning into it. "Before I had my gla.s.ses. And Anthony gets them now, from time to time, even though he pretends he's unaffected."

The pills were starting to kick in, combined with the care Randall was giving him. The pain was starting to leech away, and Victor had to bite his tongue to stop himself from letting out a groan of relief. He always forgot how painful these episodes were until he experienced them again-and once he was experiencing them, he tended to forget he'd ever been in a state without pain.

"Okay, does somebody want to tell me what just happened there?" Anthony's voice came from the door of the van. He sounded concerned, a little gruff in his worry. Jed and Redford had maps spread across the hood of the van. Victor could see them through the windshield. Apparently they'd decided to let Victor explain himself to the wolves as he saw fit. "Do you have epilepsy, Victor?"

"Not quite." Victor shifted the cloth to press it against his eyes. The movement, the little motion away from Randall, immediately had Randall's touch falling away. "I'm a half blood. Medusa, to be exact."

There was a pause before Randall breathed out a noise, both intrigued and pitying all in one. "My G.o.d," Randall said lowly, eyes wide. "You... you had a vision?" Another beat and Randall went pale. "Of me?"

"Yes," Victor admitted reluctantly. "I'm sorry. I truly didn't mean to look." He always felt sorry for the people he accidentally made eye contact with. It was an invasion of privacy of the highest degree. By himself, Randall might have only told him that his parents had been killed by hunters, for example, but Victor had just seen all the gory details. Had shared in a moment that Randall had not wanted to share with him.

"I don't get it." Edwin was standing there, looking far more content now that he'd gotten to run around outside. Victor's little episode had apparently saved him from extreme car boredom. "What's a medusa?"

Randall, instead of giving the answer Victor a.s.sumed he knew, just looked vaguely like he was going to be sick. "Excuse me," he said, pushing past Anthony and half stumbling out of the van, taking off into the gra.s.s by the side of the road, obviously wanting as much distance as possible.

Victor didn't blame him.

"It means that when I look into somebody's eyes, I see everything about them," he answered Edwin. "Their past, their present. Their future. Because my brain is not designed for such an influx of information, I tend to pa.s.s out." He didn't go on to talk about the eventual insanity. It seemed too morbid right then, to tell to a carefree young man like Edwin, who was already dealing with his brother's sickness.

Nose wrinkling a little, Edwin looked to where Randall was pacing back and forth, arms folded tightly across his chest. Something dawned in his gaze, and he glanced at Anthony. Then his frank blue eyes went back to Victor. "You saw what happens to Randall in the future," he mused. "I guess you're not going to tell us, huh? That's how it always works in stories. The fairy G.o.dmother knows all the answers, but she just gives people dresses and lets them figure out the rest on their own. Otherwise the story would be over in the first chapter."

"No, I'm afraid telling people about it usually gives the game away." Victor turned his gaze back to Randall, frowning slightly in concern.

Anthony shifted his weight from side to side, looking uncertain. "Did you see what happens to me in the future? I-ow! Edwin!" He glared at Edwin, rubbing his arm where the punch had landed. "I'm just asking."

"You're not going to die." Said with all the conviction of the young and the strong, as if by willing it, Edwin would order the universe. As if by his own hands he could pull his brother back from the brink of wherever he was falling. "We don't need a medusa to tell us that. You're going to be fine, and we're all going to go home." He gave his brother another punch to the shoulder, though this one was much lighter and really was more of a pull in so he could wrap his arms around Anthony. "I don't care what anyone sees," he murmured, clinging tightly. "You're going to be fine. Okay?"

Anthony huffed out a laugh, ruffling a hand through Edwin's hair. "Of course," he replied. "I've got way too much to do; there's no way I can get that sick."

"Besides," Victor felt the need to chip in, "I don't see the future. I see many possibilities." He shared a quick look with Anthony, and it seemed to rea.s.sure the man that there were potential futures in which he lived just fine.

Anthony looked over at Randall, who was still looking none too happy, and gave a short sigh. "Randall's an extremely private person," he told Victor, a protective rumble in the back of his throat. "I don't think he's going to be too happy with you."

"Princess, you done puking your guts out yet?" Ah, the dulcet tones of an irritated Journey Walker. "As fun as it is to escort you to your fainting couch, Scarlett, if we want to hit the halfway point we need to keep moving."

"Yes, I'm quite done," Victor returned dryly. More genuinely, he added, "Thank you for stopping. I'm fairly certain added motion sickness would not have helped." He wasn't used to seeing Jed be thoughtful about anything. Usually the man's method of dealing with things was explosives. And if that didn't work, more explosives.

Then again, watching as Redford came up behind Jed, slipping arms around his waist, kissing his jaw with a smile, maybe there really was a softer side of Jed. Maybe that's what happened when one spent months in domesticity. Jed was smiling slightly, murmuring lowly to Redford, opening the door for him-like he was a normal man in a normal relationship. If Victor didn't know better, he wouldn't have even a.s.sumed Jed had five different weapons on him at the moment.

Randall was the last person in the van, head bowed, hair tumbling down to hide his eyes. He very carefully got into his seat, fingers fumbling with the seat belt before he finally got it latched. Embarra.s.sment and, oddly, shame were etched into his expression and every hesitant move. The glimmers of confidence, the spark of intelligence and wit that Victor had seen before were hidden now, under an almost painful shyness.

It made Victor feel like the worst sort of b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Even if it had been an accident.

The van rumbled to life, and they got onto the road once more. Victor was left alone to his thoughts, keeping his eyes closed this time. He didn't want to risk another moment of eye contact, not so soon after the last one. Slowly, conversations started up around him once more. Jed and Redford were cheerfully bantering over whether finding a pancake place or a burger joint was more road trip appropriate. Anthony and Edwin had started a game of go fish, and Anthony was trying to get Randall to join in. Knievel kept trying to walk over the van's dashboard. The noises washed around him, soft ripples against the rush of the road under their tires, and Victor sank into that contented feeling of not being alone.

It gave him the much-needed time to sort through what he'd seen. Like they were a pile of papers dropped carelessly onto the floor, Victor picked the memories up and shuffled them until they were in order, making sense of them.

"I'm sorry." It was Randall's voice, several miles down the road, after he'd declined the card game, after they'd both sat in silence for long enough that the sound of him speaking seemed out of place. Randall wasn't looking at him, instead focusing on his own hands, laced tightly together and resting neatly in his lap.

At the sound of his voice, all Victor could see for a few seconds was split-second flashes of memory, other instances that Randall had said those words. "You have no need to apologize," he replied, keeping his voice low. "It was my fault, and I'm sorry for invading your privacy like that. If I could give it back, I would."

A frown touched the corners of Randall's lips. "I know I don't need to apologize," he murmured after a moment. "The thoughts in my head are... well, they're supposed to be my own. But I'm sorry you had to see them. That you know-" Cutting himself off, deep red curling around his ears, down his neck, embarra.s.sment plain to see, Randall sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "G.o.d. You must think I'm a complete idiot."

For a few seconds, Victor had no idea what Randall was talking about. He first a.s.sumed it was something to do with Randall's past, but that couldn't be it. The bits of present that he saw weren't as clear as the past or future, but he saw them well enough.

And he had seen a fragment of memory concerning himself. The day that Randall had sought him out to inquire where Jed and Redford were. There had been a warmth of emotion there, an admiration. Something beyond what one felt for someone they wanted to be friends with.

The realization startled Victor. Randall had emotions regarding him. Emotions that were none too platonic.

"Yes, well." Randall had obviously taken his silence for confirmation, a quick flash of misery on his face before he shuttered it all away behind polite blandness. "Again, I apologize, I-"

"No, I'm sorry, I was...." Victor rubbed at his forehead. "I tend to get easily distracted after the visions. Don't mind me." Although he had to admit, some of Randall's memories were very pleasant. Especially the ones about his family. "I meant to say that there's nothing you should be embarra.s.sed about, Randall. It may sound trite, but if I'm allowed to comment on what I saw, I have to say that I admire your strength."

Cutting a sideways glance over to Victor, Randall hesitated a moment before breathing out a quick, startled laugh. "I don't think anyone's ever mistaken me for strong." His lips twisted upward into a rueful smile. "That would be Anthony's forte. I'm just very fortunate. But, um, thank you. For not judging me too harshly."

"Well, I didn't look into Anthony's eyes," Victor replied. "So I couldn't comment on him." He wasn't sure what there would be to judge, in any case. It was hardly his place.

"Really?" A slight, teasing smirk touched Randall's expression. "He's right there. About six two, brown hair. Penchant for flannel. Comment away."

Though the thought of looking into somebody else's eyes so soon was slightly terrifying, Victor breathed out a quiet laugh. "I'll have to decline the offer, but thank you. I've already broken enough privacy boundaries for one day. No need to have the entire van p.i.s.sed off at me."

The smile slipped away, and Randall reached out, fingers touching the back of Victor's hand. "I'm not mad," he said very seriously. "I'm just not used to anyone... knowing. There's supposed to be an order to things. A mutual learning. And now you know all the answers, and I'm still making mistakes all the way back at the starting line. It's scary, to have you know that. But I'm not angry at you."

Victor hadn't thought about it that way before, and he could see Randall's point. It must be very strange to talk to somebody that you didn't know very well, when that someone knew everything about you. "How about I promise to be very forthcoming in any questions you ask of me?" It was a weak promise, something that would hardly make up for the accident, but Victor couldn't think of anything else to do. "So that you don't feel quite so unbalanced?"

Ducking his head, Randall hid his smile. "That sounds like a whole lot of trust you're giving me," he said softly. "But thank you."

"Trust is earned through knowledge of another person," Victor replied. "I feel I have enough to trust you rather implicitly."

Quiet for a moment, as if considering that, Randall ventured hesitantly, "Tell me about being a medusa. I've heard of them, read several legends, but-"

He was cut off by the noise of the brakes and the soft jolt of the van coming to a stop. "Everyone out," Jed shouted. Edwin happily climbed over everyone with Knievel at his heels. "Pit stop. Take a p.i.s.s and then meet at the diner."

Randall sighed quietly at the interruption, then eased himself out of his seat. With a rueful backward glance at Victor, he was engulfed by Edwin and hurried along with the exuberant promises of cheeseburgers. Anthony was on the other side of them, Randall's arm instinctively going out to take his brother's, to support him without even appearing to notice Anthony was unsteady. Victor caught sight of Randall's smile, the tense uncertainty easing as he laughed at Anthony's joke, as Edwin grinned at the both of them, carefree and content.

Knievel wound between all of them before Edwin picked her up and the cat perched on his shoulder. Victor somehow gathered that neither the cat nor Jed or Edwin would care that most restaurants did not welcome pets. Which was amusing, considering that five of their diners were hardly strictly human, and four of them would shed far more than Knievel on her worst day.

The greasy smell of diner food didn't exactly do wonders for Victor's lingering headache, but he fought hard not to visibly wrinkle his nose. He'd already given everybody in the van enough trouble today. For now, he'd just order a coffee and maybe a scone, if this place would even know what those were. Considering he had a lot of trouble finding a decent scone in America, he didn't think his chances would be too good. Perhaps he'd chance a m.u.f.fin instead.

They settled in a booth in the corner. Edwin and Anthony immediately made a grab for the menus, and Victor would bet they'd order the largest dish available. Redford was seated next to Jed, darting nervous glances at the waitresses, and Randall was sitting opposite Victor, so he supposed now wasn't the time to carry on a conversation about what it was like to be a medusa half blood. He felt grateful that Randall wasn't truly angry at him, because the man had every right to be.

Victor tried a tentative smile for him, an amused expression at Anthony and Edwin's enthusiastic discussion of food, and was rewarded with one in return. He wasn't sure if he liked the warmth that hooked into his chest as a result.

Jed somehow managed to convince a sleepy-looking waitress that Knievel was his seeing-eye cat. As they ordered drinks and food and got their drinks delivered shortly, he noticed that Randall had deliberately placed himself on the outside edge of the booth, seemingly so that he could take Anthony's mug from the waitress and put it down on the table in front of Anthony. Victor took a quick look at Anthony's hands. They were shaking, though he'd clasped them tightly together to try to stop it. He looked ashamed that he needed the help.

"So what's the plan for tonight, expedition leader?" Anthony said to Jed, trying to grin, though it was rather dimmer than his usual cheerful expressions.

"We're about four hours' drive away from the halfway point," Jed said, easily looping his arm around Redford, absently rubbing his thumb along the man's side. It was a calming gesture, Victor noticed, if Redford's reaction was anything to go by. Some of the sharp nervousness melted away, Jed providing a casual buffer between Redford and the rest of the world. "There's a little town that'll do to stop. We'll find a cheap motel and hole up for the night. Red and I are going to take the bathroom, provided the door locks from the inside. The rest of you can divide the room however you want."

Anthony looked startled, then a little suspicious, and finally, somewhat worried. "What exactly are you going to be doing in a locked bathroom when Redford is a wolf?"

Jed glanced around the table, apparently confused. "Being with him during the moon?" Jed finally ventured slowly, like this was incredibly obvious and he was worried Anthony might have some form of brain damage to not understand that. "I don't know what your freaky furry family does during full moons, but Redford's a lot calmer if I'm there. I'm sure as h.e.l.l not leaving him alone." He paused a beat and grimaced. "Aw, s.h.i.t. You guys need to be all locked up too, don't you?" With a sigh, he seemed to accept that, though he grumbled during the startled silence of the Lewises, "We're looking for a place with a d.a.m.n big bathroom."