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.
As he lay there, unable to move, the air shimmered around him and turned into shapes so old they were remembered only in nightmares.
? ? ?
Something wrong with her ankle—wrong enough that she couldn’t walk, couldn’t even support her weight enough to stand.
Meg scooted a little farther away from the cold white hand. Then she looked around.
This was it. This was the end of the prophecy. She had found the grave in the woods, the tombstone made of old leaves.
It was cool and dark beneath the trees, but she wasn’t cold. It would be night before the temperature dropped enough for her to feel cold. But she was hungry and tired and so very thirsty.
And alone.
But she was part of the Wolfgard pack at Lakeside. Just because she was alone, she wouldn’t turn into some blubbering human. She would . . .
“Arroo! Arroo!” I am here. I am here, Simon. Come find me. “Ar-r-rooo!” Please find me.
Then she turned into a blubbering human after all.
? ? ?
A strange sound. Familiar but not. And nothing made by one of them.
Their kin near Lake Etu had sent out a call to all who could hear them: find the sweet blood howling not-Wolf, the little female called Broomstick Girl.
Could this sound be coming from what they sought?
As they moved toward the sound, their footsteps filled the land with an odd silence.
? ? ?
O’Sullivan took the call, spoke quietly for a minute, then hung up. “The local police found the car.”
“Are we on the right road?” Burke asked, his voice neutral.
O’Sullivan nodded. After a minute of brittle silence, he added softly, “They think they found Cyrus Montgomery.”
Burke didn’t ask what that meant. He already knew.
CHAPTER 27
Thaisday, Messis 23
Snapping out of a light sleep, Meg tried to rub the crusties out of the corners of her eyes without rubbing dirt into her eyes. Had she really heard sirens? The sound carried, but it still meant that, maybe, she wasn’t that far from a road that was patrolled.
Of course, not being able to walk meant “not that far” was still too far.