“I’ll be ready when Burke gets here.” He rushed upstairs to the office, stripped, stuffed his clothes into a carry sack, then shifted. He dragged the carry sack to the stairs, then gave it a push so that it rolled to the landing. Another push landed the carry sack on the floor of the stock room.

O’Sullivan arrived at HGR’s back door carrying a daypack. “Water and food. The police already have first-aid kits in their vehicles.” He opened the back door just as Burke’s black sedan drove up the access way.

By the time they crossed the area behind the stores and reached the back of the Liaison’s Office, Burke had turned the car around. He stepped out of the car, opened the back door and the trunk, then held up one finger to indicate he would be a moment. He walked up the access way.

Simon eased into the back of the car, careful not to leap and smack his head on the doorframe. He dropped the carry sack with his clothes on the floor behind Burke’s seat, then stretched out on the backseat.

<Simon?> Blair called. <Nathan and I are going with you to find Meg. We’ll ride with Montgomery and Kowalski.>

<I’ll ride with Burke,> he replied. <There will be enough room in the back for me and Meg.>

His heart pounded. His body quivered with anxiety and anticipation.

The humans had found the car. The Wolfgard would find his Meg.

• • •

“So,” Burke said dryly, “instead of one Wolf to help us track, we have three?”

Monty nodded. “Blair and Nathan were scratching on the back doors as soon as Kowalski pulled into the delivery area. Don’t know what they know, except that the police found something and they’re coming with us.”

“They can track as well as the dogs,” O’Sullivan said. “And if we have to leave the road and the right-of-way area for any reason, the Wolves can smooth the way, right?”

“How much did you tell Simon?” Burke asked.

“That the car was spotted, giving us a starting point for the search,” O’Sullivan replied. “And the woman ran into the woods.”

Monty’s stomach churned. “You didn’t tell him about the blood the truck driver saw on her clothes?” Jimmy had cut Meg. Of course he had. He wouldn’t resist the chance to hear predictions about his future or how to acquire easy money. Wasn’t that the reason he’d taken her in the first place? He’d force her to help him avoid capture. So why had someone spotted the car this quickly? Was it a diversion?

“No reason to mention it yet,” Burke said, “or to tell any of the Wolves about Hope Wolfsong’s vision drawing.”

“Simon may think we’re being dishonest,” Monty said quietly.

“When Meg Corbyn was last seen, she was alive and well enough to run away from Cyrus,” Burke countered. “For now we stick with that. Besides, you’ve got two large Wolves filling up the backseat of that patrol car. Do you really want them more upset than they already are?”

Monty shook his head.

Burke waited a beat. “Lieutenant, I can assign someone else for this.”

“No, sir. I’m the leader of the team that deals with the Courtyard. So I’ll deal with this.”

Monty returned to the patrol car. As Kowalski pulled over to let Burke take the lead, Monty prayed to all the gods he could name that Jimmy hadn’t done any serious damage to Meg Corbyn. And if Jimmy had, he prayed that his brother would have sense enough to surrender so that he wouldn’t have to be the one to put a bullet between Jimmy’s eyes.

• • •

Meg ran and ran, following paths that blurred or became too sharply focused. Cyrus had cut her across the scars of old prophecies, and he’d made the new cuts too close together. The prophecies weren’t distinct because of that. The images bled into one another. Worse, she kept seeing superimposed images, and she couldn’t tell what was real and what was part of a vision. She could walk off a cliff because she thought she was walking on a road.

But she had to run no matter what she thought she saw, had to find the right place.

Finally slowing to a walk, she wiped her left hand on her shirt to remove the stickiness. When it felt sticky again a moment later, she finally looked at the blood welling up from a cut.

How had that happened? When had that happened?

She kept walking. She needed water. She needed to figure out which of the visions she’d been seeing for the past little while were the ones that would help her.

Preoccupied with her thoughts and a path that was or wasn’t real, she took a step and overbalanced when her foot hovered in air before she rushed headlong down a slope into a small bowl of land.

Her foot caught on something beneath the leaves, propelling her forward. Reaching in front of her, her hands hit something and slid along its length as she fell.

Meg looked at the jacket sleeve. She felt the cold white hand—and screamed.

• • •

Jimmy swore and kicked the car. Fucking piece of shit. What was he supposed to do way the fuck out here with a flat tire?

That bitch knew. She knew. He should have softened her up, taught her who was boss. If he’d done that, he could have stopped at that trading post and picked up some food and water. He wouldn’t be standing out here with nothing if she hadn’t been such a bitch.

Suddenly he stopped swearing, stopped making noise, and listened to an odd silence he could almost feel against his skin.

The blow knocked him off his feet, lifted him so high he flew through the air and watched a strange rope uncoil from his belt before he hit the ground in the grass verge. When he tried to sit up, he saw the slices in his torso that had been made by big claws sharp enough to cut glass.