A pair of gold filigree rings had survived the blaze. Gemma’s rings. I picked them up, squeezed them in my hand, and nudged Grant. “Come on, we have to go.”

Propping him up, I pulled him to his feet, and whatever moment of despair had gripped him vanished. He straightened, the look of cold stone settling over him. He folded his hands protectively to his chest and walked.

I picked up the blanket Jeffrey had dropped, held it up, showing the light that played through the fibers. Not a tight weave. “It probably wouldn’t have been enough,” I said, like that was any comfort.

“It might have been,” he said. “If I’d been faster.”

I hooked my arm through his and urged him on. Side by side, Jeffrey and I followed Grant back to the lodge.

Anastasia was waiting in the living room, toward the back, in shadows and away from the sunlight now pouring in through the windows. She had to know it was too late, but when we came in through the door she demanded, “Where is she?”

Grant, streaked with sweat and soot, could only look at her, his burned hands clawed in front of him.

Tina covered her mouth, her eyes narrowing with tears. Anastasia didn’t say a word. Not to reprimand him, not to weep. She nodded once, then went to the basement door and descended into her cave.

I followed.

“Anastasia?”

At the bottom of the stairs, I found her sitting on the bed, a noble statue, gazing into the corner.

“Anastasia, I’m sorry. He tried. He almost had her.”

“She died in his arms,” she said. “I could see that. Right now, I have nothing to say. I need to rest. I hope to see you come nightfall.”

Hesitating, I approached, opening my hand to her. Gemma’s rings lay on my palm. Anastasia stared at them a moment, then retrieved them with cold fingers, closing them in her own fist.

I left her, climbing back up the stairs with feet made of lead.

Chapter 20

Tina, Jeffrey, and Grant were in the kitchen, tending to the magician’s hands with ointment and bandages. Someone must have found a first-aid kit. Grant’s jaw was taut, and he bore what must have been terrible pain without flinching.

Leaning on the counter, I watched, wondering what to do now. I asked myself what Cormac would do, and I couldn’t think of an answer anymore. No, that wasn’t true. He’d hole up somewhere defensible with a case of ammunition and shoot anything that moved.

Not a bad idea, that.

Jeffrey said, “Kitty, you should get some sleep. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

My muscles ached; my brain hurt. And the walls were closing in. “So do you.”

“Is there a plan?” Tina said.

I shook my head. “I’m all out of plans.”

“Anastasia can’t leave until nightfall,” Grant said, forcing his voice to stay steady. “Getting sleep in the meantime isn’t a bad idea. We can rest in shifts while the others keep watch.”

“They’re still out there,” Tina said. “You think they’re still after us?”

“Of course they are,” Grant muttered, harsh with pain.

“But they have to sleep, too,” Jeffrey said. “Maybe they’ll leave us alone for a while.”

Maybe they would. Maybe we’d have a few hours’ respite. “I’ll take the first watch,” I said.

“No,” Jeffrey said. “Tina’s right, you’re half asleep already.”

“I’m fine.”

He touched my shoulder and guided me to the second sofa, and I was too tired to shrug him off.

I woke up not knowing how I managed to fall asleep at all, but exhaustion had caught up with me. But I didn’t exactly feel refreshed. I still felt hunted, all my muscles tied in knots, my hackles permanently taut. When I looked around the living room, it was with suspicion, searching for the thing that was wrong. Looking to see who was missing now.

Grant was asleep on a bed of blankets on the floor by the fireplace. His injured hands wrapped with gauze bandages lay on his chest. Tina was slumped in a chair, also asleep. Jeffrey sat in a chair near the window, out of sight from the outside, where another beautiful sunny day in the mountains shone through.

Conrad, sitting up, his injured leg stretched out on the other sofa, was awake and looking at me. He actually seemed a little better—more relaxed, not so pale. His leg had been washed and bound with gauze and tape. Blood still seeped through the bandages. He really needed a hospital. That goal seemed a tiny bit out of our reach at the moment.

“Hi,” I said, slowly drawing myself into the moment.

“Hi,” he answered.

“What’s been happening? What have I missed?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been kind of out of it. The others have been taking turns keeping watch.”

“How are you doing?” I asked.

He smiled wryly and shook his head. “It’s gone numb.”

That couldn’t be a good sign. “We’ll get out of this. Everything’ll turn out.”

That sounded lame, didn’t it? I glanced away in apology.

His voice was soft but steady now. As long as he didn’t move, the pain seemed manageable. “You’re married, right?”

“Yeah.” The reminder of Ben sent an ache through my heart. I couldn’t think about him right now—just think about getting through the next few hours.

“You have kids?” he said.

“No.”

“You want kids? Are you and your husband trying for them?”

My smile got tighter as the old wound twinged in my gut. “It’s not a matter of what I want. Lycanthropes can’t carry a baby to term. Shape-shifting causes a miscarriage.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Life’s a bitch.”

“I didn’t think I wanted them. My wife—Trish—talked me into it. I could never say no to her. But when Toby came along—God, I didn’t think I’d feel that way. It’s like the whole world shifted so everything centered on him. This amazing little thing. Toby, then Hannah…”

He wiped his nose on his shirt. That whole life-flashing-before-your-eyes thing? Maybe it happened sometimes, but I had a feeling that just three faces were flashing before Conrad’s eyes.

“We’re going to get out of this,” I said weakly. “You’ll see them again.”

He gave a painful chuckle. “Yeah. Sure. Okay.” Unconvinced.

“Get some rest,” I said. “In case we have to go running again.”

“I want to be awake. When the next thing happens, I don’t want to be asleep.”

Yeah. I got that.

“Jeffrey?” Conrad craned his neck, looking for the psychic, wincing as he jostled his leg.

Jeffrey came over. He didn’t look any better than the rest of us. A beard had started growing, his hair was shaggy and uncombed, and his face was pale. Jeffrey was one of the most upbeat people I knew. I’d never seen him so grim. He didn’t even speak, just waited for Conrad to continue.

“Jeffrey,” he said, full of emotion. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t believe. I want—can I talk to Natalie? I want to talk to her. Can you help me?”

Jeffrey smiled, though sadly. “Just talk to her, Conrad. She’ll hear. She’s always heard you.”

“And my kids. If anything happens to me, I’ll still be able to see them, I can talk to them—will you help me talk to them? I just want them to know—”

“Don’t think about it,” Jeffrey said. “It’s not worth thinking about.” He went back to the window, staying at the edge, sneaking careful looks out. He was tense, arms crossed, jaw set. I wanted to hug him. Like that would help.

Conrad settled back on the sofa, staring miserably into space.

I went to find something to eat. Drank a cup of flat soda and a slice of bread and peanut butter that went down like sawdust.

“Tina, Grant, Kitty—” Jeffrey called. The others woke and sat up instantly; they may not have slept at all. “I saw something. They’re out there—one of them is, at least. In the trees there.”

“What do you see?” Grant said. He didn’t act injured at all, except that he kept his hands cradled in front of him, sheltered.