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<Tell him to take a message, and I’ll call—>

<Now, Simon. It’s urgent.>

He watched her hair as it coiled and changed colors. Then he touched Meg’s arm, a simple gesture that was somehow intimate.

“I have to take a phone call.”

“All right.” Meg watched him run to the back door of HGR. Then she looked at Sam. “You and Skippy wait for me by the office door.” Finally she looked at Tess. “There’s trouble.”

No point denying it. “Yes.”

“How bad?”

“We won’t know until Simon is done with that phone call.”

Meg hesitated. “Did I see this? When I fell and you listened, did I . . .”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Believe me, Meg. If you had said anything, even a hint that this phone call would come, I’d have told someone.” Everyone. She had seen the look on Vlad’s face when he realized what was on the other end of the phone line. Harvesters were an old form of terra indigene that had adapted their masking shape many times to be the most effective hunters. Wolves were also an old form of terra indigene. So were the Sanguinati.

But some forms of earth native were much, much older. And there were good reasons why they should be left undisturbed.

“Here.” Tess held out the sack of food. “Mostly human food, but a couple of cookies for Skippy.”

“The sandwiches and pastries are better than the ones you had before,” Meg said, taking the sack.

“So far, Nadine’s Bakery and Café has delivered what it promised.”

“That’s good.”

“Come on, Meg!” Sam called.

“Arooeeooeeoo!”

Meg looked toward HGR’s second-floor window, then hurried to open the office and get the noisy youngsters inside.

When they were gone, Tess saw the gate to Henry’s yard open. The Grizzly tipped his head toward HGR’s back door, but he didn’t wait for her. She ran to the door. As she turned to close it, she noticed the black smoke rushing toward her. Three of the Sanguinati, followed by Blair and Elliot, also in a hurry.

She held the door for them, then followed them up to the bookstore’s office to find how just how bad it was going to be.

* * *

Simon raced up the stairs to HGR’s office. Just as well he was in human form; his forelegs wouldn’t have supported an attempt to mount the stairs at that speed.

Vlad said nothing; just held out the phone. But Simon noticed the tremble in the vampire’s hand.

“This is Simon Wolfgard.”

It was not a voice meant to shape human words. It was not a voice that should have been heard over any device created by humans.

Simon sank into the chair. “Yes, I’ll listen.” And he did. For several minutes, he listened and said nothing. Then, “Yes, I understand.” And he did.

By the time he hung up, the office was full of the individuals who would carry some of this weight along with him: Erebus, Vlad, Nyx, and Stavros; Blair and Elliot; Henry and Tess. But at the end of what was said, one individual had been singled out, and she wasn’t in the room.

The sweet blood has changed things. You have changed because of her. We are intrigued by the humans who have gathered around your Courtyard, so we will give you some time to decide how much human the terra indigene will keep.

How much time was some time? And what, exactly, was he deciding to keep—the products humans made that the terra indigene found useful, or the pieces that, taken in total, made up the essential nature of humans? Was he supposed to decide if it was possible to have a human form of terra indigene? A century from now, would there be a Human and a human, like there was a Wolf and a wolf? What if there weren’t enough terra indigene who were willing to become that human?

How much time was some time?

“So,” Henry finally said. “The Elders have declared a breach of trust?”

“Yes.” The consequences were going to roll through Thaisia like a terrible storm.

“Have they decided on extinction?”

Simon shivered. “Not yet.”

Silence as the rest of them absorbed the words.

“What are you going to tell Montgomery?” Vlad asked.

“The truth.”

CHAPTER 54

Moonsday, Maius 28

As Monty reached the doorway of Captain Burke’s office, he heard an unfamiliar voice say, “Thanks for seeing me, especially at a difficult time. My condolences on the loss of one of your men.”

Giving the visitor his typical fierce-friendly smile, Burke wagged a finger at Monty—a silent command to come in. “Appreciate the sentiment. As for seeing you, well, you caught a train and came to talk to us. The least we can do is listen to what you have to say. Lieutenant Montgomery, this is Greg O’Sullivan, an agent in the governor’s newly formed Investigative Task Force. O’Sullivan, this is Crispin James Montgomery.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” O’Sullivan said, extending a hand toward Monty.

Monty shook the offered hand while he assessed the man. O’Sullivan looked to be in his early thirties. He had green eyes, dark hair that was cut short and starting to thin at the top. The lean build could be the luck of heritage or a deliberate result of diet and exercise. However, the skin on O’Sullivan’s face was so tightly stretched over bone and muscle it lent the man a kind of burning intensity and made Monty think of a warrior who chose an austere life in order to be constantly ready for the next battle.

Am I the next battle? Something about the way O’Sullivan looked at him gave Monty the feeling the man already knew too much about him.

Monty and O’Sullivan sat in the visitors’ chairs. Burke sat behind his desk—and waited.

Looking at the two men, Monty wondered if Burke was seeing a version of his younger self. O’Sullivan certainly came across as having the same kind of fierceness under a veneer of manners.

“It’s your meeting,” Burke finally said.

“Is this room secure?” O’Sullivan countered.

“Nothing you say here will go any further without your consent.”

O’Sullivan sat back in the chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. “There is a file on you in the governor’s office.”

“Every police officer has a file,” Burke replied easily. “For that matter, every government employee has a file. Standard procedure.”

“Yes, it is. Until you joined the force in Lakeside and began rising through the ranks, your file . . . Well, no one’s file is that clean, so when Governor Hannigan called a few of your former commanding officers, they filled in a little of what wasn’t on the page.”

“And why would the governor be interested in a patrol captain in Lakeside?”

O’Sullivan smiled. “He was trying to decide if he should recruit you for the ITF.”

“Why?”

O’Sullivan’s smile faded. “Because you were assigned to small human villages near or within the boundaries of the wild country in your early years on the force. Because you had direct experience with the terra indigene at least once during those years, and that experience has informed the choices you’ve made ever since when it comes to dealing with the Others. Because two of your former commanders hinted that you saw something or know something too dangerous to put in a report or pass along to anyone else, and whatever happened in those early years makes you a dangerous man because you actually know what’s at stake when humans tangle with the Others. Because you’re someone Governor Hannigan wants as an ally.”

“You’re here to offer me a job?”

“No. After careful review, the governor decided you’re ideally situated right where you are.”