The Thing About Weres

He opened his palm, and Merry crawled into it with practiced ease.

They’ve done that many times before, I thought, feeling a stab of jealousy.

“She doesn’t belong in this piece of rock. She’s got heart,” he said somberly. Merry-mine wrapped a tendril of ivy around his thumb. “When the Black Mage knows the magic, there’s nothing to stop him from making another Merry or Ralph.”

A beat of red deep inside the heart of the amber. It hurt me to look at her, and so I stared outside to the scene on the front lawn. The men had finished raking up the debris from under the tree. One of them glanced at our window, and I reared back.

“They heard us, didn’t they?” I asked.

“Yes.”

My cheeks heated. They probably heard us make love, too. “Don’t you worry that they’ll speak to the wrong people?”

“Those two gave me their blood vow. Anyone who’s on the property has, and their loyalty is absolute. Those who haven’t, have twenty-four hours to do so.”

Or what? I wanted to ask, but didn’t. “Did your sister make the vow?”

His chest lifted and fell. “No.”

“It’s such a mess, Trowbridge,” I said. “If the Black Mage has an amulet, will he come here?”

“If he believes the Royal Amulet is here, he’ll come.”

“You lied to the pack.”

“It’s a skill I picked up in Merenwyn.”

“Is there any way we can stop it?”

“Not unless someone kills the Black Mage.” Suddenly, Trowbridge swiveled around, his ear cocked toward the door. A moment later, I heard the sound of boots coming up the stairs. “It’s Harry,” he told me, as if I didn’t recognize the sound of those cowboy heels. “He must have some news about Brenda Pritty.”

I tried for a smile and failed. “Then you better go talk to him, hadn’t you?”

“It can wait,” he said.

“No, it can’t, and you know it.” I headed for the bathroom.

Harry knocked on the door. “Sorry, boss, I didn’t want to disturb you, but I just got the information you needed.”

I shut the door, then turned on the tap so that Harry wouldn’t hear me pee. (Yeah, I know he could still hear me but it’s a mental thing, okay?) Trowbridge’s hair littered the floor. One long dread hung over the rim of the garbage can by the toilet. I picked it up. It felt soft in my hand.

Not dead to the touch at all.

I flushed and washed my hands. As I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I thought about how I hated death more than anything else in the world. I’d lost to it twice now, and I’m a really sore loser. Maybe that’s what drove me to protect those I love even when common sense told me not to.

So fix this.

My brain spun around the problem. Lexi needed to return to Merenwyn, but if he did, he’d be facing one very angry mage. Everything always came back to the Black Mage. His soul ball must be as dark as—

Ohhhh.

Contrary to a popular misconception, and the vampires of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, you really can’t survive without a soul … the Black Mage’s dark heart was easy pickings in Threall.

All I needed to do to change everything from terrible to bearable was travel to the land of myst, dodge Mad-one, take a stick, and break his soul ball. And then … I could return home. Tell Lexi that his sister, the mystwalker abomination, had slain the monster. That it was safe to go back to Merenwyn and thumb his way through the Old Mage’s spell book until he found the antidote to his addiction.

Murder of the most sinister kind.

But if I did it … If I killed the dark wizard’s twisted soul, I could save Lexi, and Merry’s people, and even Trowbridge’s Raha’ells, so much hurt, so much pain. All I had to do was to be willing to extinguish one light in Threall.

And yet.

Murder.

I killed Dawn Danvers. I rubbed my mouth, thoughtful. Most of the time, I didn’t think of her too much. She’d had to go; she’d hurt mine, and was planning to kill mine. But some nights—when the wind stirs the trees—I find myself thinking of her. I can’t seem to erase the memory of her terrified expression when my Fae dragged her toward the pond. I can’t seem to forget the way her nails had tried to gouge the cable of Fae magic wrapped around her waist. Sometimes I wake up, heart thudding in my chest, remembering her wild and terrified eyes staring at me from under the water.

If I could do that, I can do this.

Merry scratched my neck, as if to say, “What’s up?”

I shook my head.

The end justifies the means, right?

I turned the idea over, inspecting it from all sides. One speed bump was Mad-one—she’d finally completely lost it. You had to be three-quarters cracker dog to believe I was “the chosen one.” Talk about wishful thinking. She must be dying to find a replacement.

What would I do if she started hovercrafting after me, tossing fireballs?

I’d run damn fast, that’s what I’d do.

Though, no matter how quickly I sprinted down the field, I’d always been a slow tree climber—partly due to my fear over the prospect of falling, partly because I’d never had Lexi’s agility. And from what I could remember, the specimen I intended to scale was a monster. Heavily foliaged, its trunk twisted and fat, garnished with knobs of bulbous growths uglier than warts on a witch’s chin. Even now, safe in the Alpha’s bedroom, my skin crawled at the thought of touching that bark. What thoughts would I hear, when I touched his tree? Goddess, it would be like sticking your hand into a pile of offal.

Oh crap. What if he saw into me?

I held a glass under the faucet—hey, look at that, the water pouring out of the tap looks a lot like the portal to Merenwyn when you see it from Threall—and filled it up. Tossing my head back, I swallowed it right down, all the time thinking, Protect, protect, protect.

Okay. The simplest solution would be to put everything precious in a strongbox—Trowbridge, Lexi, Cordelia, Merry and Ralph, Harry and even Biggs. Everything that was crucial to me sealed in a treasure chest. I wiped the corner of my mouth. I could do that. I was great at compartmentalizing.

Would that be enough?

“You think too much,” Trowbridge had just told me.

Don’t think. Do.

I turned off the tap, and eavesdropped for a second.

“They say she has a drug problem?” asked Trowbridge.

“Yup,” said Harry. “A big one, from all accounts. Which means—”

“We’ve got to track her down,” finished the Alpha of Creemore. “Find out who she’s told.”

Harry cleared his throat. “Before you arrived Knox said he’d contacted his superior at the NAW, which means Reeve Whitlock probably has at least a verbal report on what’s been going down in Creemore.”

“Doesn’t matter. Without the video, there’s no proof that the portal ever was opened. If it only went as far as Brenda Pritty, we’re good.”

Pack business.

Let Trowbridge take care of his people while I take care of mine.

I closed my eyes. Concentrated.

Pull away from here. Think of Threall.

I imagined myself as a bird, flying in from the south, my eyes opened wide instead of squeezed tight. Threall was an open field, roughly the size and shape of a hockey rink. Forests to the left and right of the clearing,