“He began, uh …”

“Changing,” I said. “Into a wolf.”

“Not exact—” He cleared his throat again. “Mr. Danvers has only witnessed one initial transformation of a bitten werewolf, and that’s hardly a sample large enough for generalization—”

“It wasn’t a normal Change,” I said. “Something’s wrong.”

“I—I believe you should speak to Mr. Cortez about this. And to Mr. Danvers, who should still be available—”

“He is,” said a voice from the doorway. Jeremy stepped in. “I heard you were back. I need to speak to you both about Bryce.”

The doctor got out of there as fast as he could. Jeremy told us that Bryce had woken and started what looked like a partial Change. That was normal. As were the screams of agony that went with it, though Jeremy downplayed those for Sean’s sake. Bryce had been fevered to the point of delirium, also normal from Jeremy’s experience with Elena. What concerned him was the rate at which the Change came on.

“It’s happening faster than I saw with Elena,” he said. “It appears to be a mutated form of werewolf, as well. More similar to the Shifters the Pack encountered in Alaska.”

The Shifters were a small group of what appeared to be an evolutionary precursor to modern werewolves. Jeremy and the others Changed into wolves—real wolves. Those guys had been closer to the beastlike Hollywood wolfman.

“We were concerned about the damage the Change might be doing to his body,” Jeremy said. “I had them administer a sedative. It was then that he was able to tell us what he knew about Larsen Dahl.”

“So the moment he recovers from nearly changing into a wolfman, Benicio grills him about that?” I said.

Jeremy gave me a look. “I would not have allowed that, Savannah. Bryce offered the information. He didn’t seem to realize he’d started to Change.”

“Is that normal?”

“No. But none of this is normal.”

My cell phone bleeped that I had a message. Jeremy’s buzzed at the same time.

I checked mine, then looked at him. “Benicio?”

Jeremy nodded.

“He wants me to come up as soon as we’re done here, so I can debrief them and be debriefed.” I glanced at Sean. “He’d like you to join us, if you can.”

“I’ll come.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Paige met us heading into the meeting and gave me a rundown on everyone’s whereabouts. Lucas was still in L.A., of course, with Adam, Clay, and Elena. He’d be joining us by phone when he could. Aaron and Cassandra were dealing with trouble in Washington, where some moron had tried to expose a vampire. Jaime was here, but waiting for my parents to contact her, and wouldn’t be joining us. Hope was present, with Karl, who was worried sick, probably because Hope was still having disturbing visions while heavily pregnant. There were also assorted Cabal executives on hand. When I walked in, though, I noticed one conspicuous absence.

“Where’s Carlos?” I whispered.

“Putting out fires in New York,” Paige whispered back as we found seats.

“Really?”

“Benicio suggested it. Carlos’s men agreed. They’re convinced this is his opportunity to show his leadership skills.”

“What leadership skills?”

“Exactly. But they went along to prop up their straw man, and Benicio says together they’re competent enough.” She pulled out her chair. “So Carlos is out of everyone’s hair and may actually be doing something useful.”

That was one potential problem resolved. At the meeting, though, I realized it was only a drop in the bucket.

I thought I knew how bad things were getting. But I’d only seen what was right in front of me, a narrow slice of the chaos rolling over the supernatural world.

Benicio played us footage of some of the attacks made by the anti-reveal movement. A hell-beast had manifested in the New York subway system. Blurry video showed a subway train arriving at a crowded station. The beast appears. Only a few see it, but panic whips through the crowd. Someone says it’s a bomb. People are trampled. People fall onto the tracks in front of the oncoming train. Too many people fall onto the tracks, meaning magic is at play.

Hundreds of people claimed to have been there. Most, it turned out, hadn’t been within five miles. Reputable news sources were already writing it off as mass hysteria, at most some large animal loose in the subway. The exposure threat? Minimal … so far.

Then, in Nashville, during a rooftop wedding reception, two uninvited guests appear: a werewolf and a vampire. Not just any werewolf and vampire, but ones that—judging by the blurry cell phone images on the Internet—had been locked up and starved long enough to tip them into madness.

Neither the Pack nor the council recognized the wretches. From the babble caught on those tapes, they seemed to be speaking foreign languages. Caught outside the U.S. or lured in, held captive, starved, driven mad … and released on a rooftop filled with half-drunk wedding revelers with the exit doors barred behind them, a cell phone blocker cutting off all hopes of aid.

Bodies began hitting the pavement, party-goers so desperate to escape that they leaped to their deaths. By the time authorities reached the roof, all the guests and event staff were dead. The were-wolf and vampire were gone, too, leaving only cell phone videos of two disheveled and crazed “humans” ripping people apart.

“The group responsible hasn’t launched an attack in twelve hours now,” Benicio said after the cases had been presented. “We’ve captured three key members and they are undergoing interrogation. Another half dozen members have been detained. Still more have been stopped.”

He meant killed. No one needed the clarification.

“As most of you are aware, the Boyd Cabal has been working with us on this. They disabled one branch before it could act. The St. Clouds handled another, but after the death of Thomas Nast, they have cut off contact with us. We can trust, however, that they will continue their efforts.”

Sean added. “As for the Nasts, I’ve been in touch with a few senior executives. We’ll be joining your efforts, together with a contingent of staff loyal to me.”

Benicio nodded. “I believe we’ll see more help from your organization as the shock passes and they realize this is not, sadly, the time for grief. Nor is it the time for a battle over succession.”