Generation 18 (Spook Squad 2)

“Wasn’t she only twelve months old when she came to Silhouettes?”

“Yes, but the bond of the twin is sometimes very strong.” Mary hesitated, blue eyes sharp. It was hard to imagine this woman being anything but in full control of her memories. “But you should know that, Josephine. You’re a twin, are you not?”

“My name is Sam. I showed you my ID, remember?”

“Did you?” Confusion flitted across the good half of Mary’s face. She rubbed her forehead wearily. “Sometimes my memory is not so good.”

“You’re doing just fine, Mary.” Sam patted the old woman’s hand gently. Her skin felt like rough paper. “Tell me about Rose’s adoption by the Sanderses.”

Mary sighed. “They were such a serious couple. Not the sort our little Rosie really needed. She was too serious herself—she needed to laugh, needed someone who would bring her out of her shell.”

“Did you advise against them adopting Rose?”

“Yes.” She sighed again. “But Mrs. Sanders fell in love with her, and in the end that was the important thing. Little Rose needed lots of love.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Why? Was she traumatized by the separation from her twin?”

“In a sense, yes. But she was having serious identity problems by the time she hit three.”

Identity problems at three years old? Most kids could barely speak at that age, let alone have concerns about who or what they were. “What caused Rose to have these problems?”

“She was a shifter,” Mary said, and patted Sam’s hand. “Most shifters have identity problems when they find their alternate shape at such a young age, but in Rose’s case it was compounded by the fact that she could take any form.”

“So she was a multi-shifter?” Just like her sister.

“Yes. But also a female-to-male shifter.”

She stared at the old woman, wondering if she’d heard right. Female to male? If hybrid shifter-changers were considered extremely rare, then what were the odds of someone being born a female-to-male shifter? “That’s not possible.”

“I didn’t think so, but there it was, happening to little Rosie right in front of me.”

“But…how?”

The old woman shrugged. “There are some people in this world who claim to have been born in the wrong bodies—males trapped in female forms, and vice versa. Maybe that’s what happened to Rose—only she could do something about it.”

“Her male form—did he have a name?”

Mary considered the question for several seconds. “Michael. I think she called him Michael.”

Michael Sanders, she thought grimly. Their young cop with the old eyes. Gabriel would want this information straightaway.

Sam stood. “Thanks for all your help, Mary.”

“You’re welcome, Josephine.” She hesitated, tilting her head to one side. “How’s that brother of yours?”

“Mary, I don’t have a brother,” she said gently.

Confusion clouded the old woman’s face. “Yes, you do. Joshua. A sprightly lad with a mass of red hair.”

A chill ran down her spine. Joshua. The boy she’d dreamt about nearly every night. She licked suddenly dry lips. “Mary, I think you’re confusing me with someone else. My name is Samant

ha, not Josephine.”

“So you’ve changed it again. I can’t keep up with you two.” She sighed softly. “I wish those damn doctors had given you all names instead of numbers. Hell of a lot easier on the rest of us.”

The chill increased. Hadn’t Joe Black mentioned something about being only a number and never having a real name? She sank slowly back to the sofa. “Mary, when did you know Josephine and Joshua?”

“Years and years ago. I was in the military before I retired and became a nurse at Silhouettes, you know.”