Fair Game

On the boat, Charles stretched out his legs and tried to ignore the lingering ache of that last change. Anna had tried sitting several different places, but the human seats were too narrow and the wrong shape. The ledges she'd used on the way over were slick, and instead of using her claws to dig into the fiberglass, she slid around with the motion of the sea. Finally she'd heaved a huge sigh and curled up by his feet on the deck.

Beauclaire had forbidden any questioning of his daughter until she'd seen a doctor. Goldstein and Isaac had elected to stay behind until the various agencies summoned arrived on the island. Malcolm told them that he'd decided Beauclaire and the wolves might need rescuing when he heard a boat leaving the island. Charles felt safe enough making the assumption that the horned lord they'd fought had left in that boat. Which would mean that very little danger remained - but it was good that Isaac had stayed anyway, just to make sure everything was okay.

Charles rather suspected that Isaac had decided to put off the boat trip until he felt better, though he'd felt good enough to change back to human. Hally was staying with Isaac to make sure that the residual magic didn't get a grip on any of the forensic people who were going to go over the island with a fine-tooth comb.

So the boat was a lot emptier on the way back than it had been on the way over.

Leslie left Beauclaire in the back half of the boat to sit beside Charles.

"She's in pretty rough shape," she said, sitting precisely on the edge of the seat. "There will be an ambulance waiting for us at the Daciana's regular berth."

The FBI agent looked a little less than professional, wrapped in a blanket from the boat, her hair windblown. Like Charles and Anna, she'd been up for a little more than twenty-four hours. Lack of sleep and lack of the subtle makeup that had worn off sometime while running around the island added years to her face.

It intrigued Charles that she chose to sit next to him with so many seats available.

"You aren't afraid of me?" he asked.

Leslie closed her eyes. "Too tired to be afraid of anything. Besides, if you could see my husband, you'd understand that it takes a lot to scare me."

That sparked his curiosity. "How is that?"

"Linebacker for the LSU Tigers for three years in college," she said without opening her eyes. "Hurt his shoulder his senior year or he'd have gone pro. He's six-five and two hundred forty-two pounds. None of it is fat, not even now. He teaches second grade." She looked at him. "What are you smiling about?"

Charles opened his eyes wide. "Nothing, ma'am."

She smiled a little. "Jude says he loves the kids better than he ever did football. But he coaches the local high school team anyway."

"You didn't come over here to tell me about your husband," he said.

"No." Leslie looked at him and then away. "How old are you?"

"Older than I look," Charles said. "A lot older."

She nodded. "I've asked around about you. We have some werewolves who talk to the FBI. They tell me that you're a detective for all the wolves. You come in and solve crimes."

He wondered if that was all they'd told her - and thought it probably was. He didn't respond because he didn't know if agreeing with her was more of a lie than disagreeing with her would be.

"And you know a lot about this world that we're just learning about. We got Lizzie out of their hands because you knew to bring in witches - and because that witch was scared enough of you to behave herself."

That was fair enough. He waited for her to get to the point.

"Lizzie says that there were three of them," Leslie told him. "Two young men and an old man. One of the young men called the old guy 'uncle' before he was shut up. The old man made the cuts on her skin. Both of the young men raped her first, 'while she was still pretty.' They told her the old man preferred women after they were broken."

He'd hoped that they had gotten to her soon enough to spare her that, but he'd been pretty sure they hadn't.

"I thought Beauclaire had refused to have her questioned," Charles said. He'd heard Lizzie talking, but Leslie didn't need to know just how good his hearing was.

"I didn't ask her a question. She just talked. Told me she wants them caught and caged so they can't do anything to anyone else. Tough woman. She fell asleep mid-word - and I think her father had something to do with that. Can the fae send people to sleep?"

"I am not an expert in fae magic," Charles said carefully.

She turned her head and nodded. "You are very good at skirting the truth." Leslie sighed. "You are an experienced detective and you met the enemy. What are your impressions?"

"I've only met the one," Charles said. But her request for information was fair - and he wanted the perpetrators caught. "The fae is definitely the junior member of the group, even though he's probably the only one with magic - and he's the reason they can take on fae and werewolves."

"What makes you think so?"

"He's not a hunter," Charles told her. "He's a stag - he's not a predator, no matter how tough or deadly he is." Herne the Hunter notwithstanding, Brother Wolf knew that the fae they'd fought with was prey. Maybe Herne was more huntsman and less deer, but this one...This one ran from his foes. He was not a hunter; he was a tool of the real hunters.

"You think he's a victim?"

Charles snorted. "No. He's no angel - but he'd never go out hunting victims. He might rape and kill someone who came too close to him - but he wouldn't hunt. That's predatory behavior. Doesn't mean he's not dangerous. Most years, moose kill more people in Canada than grizzlies do. Moose, though, generally don't trail people with the intention of killing them like a grizzly will."

"All right," Leslie said. "We have a moose, not a bear. What else?"

He reflected on the fight. The horned lord fought instinctively instead of strategically, seemingly incapable of focusing on more than one attacker at a time. "That fae isn't smart. If he has a day job - and I'd guess that he does - " Charles tried to verbalize the instincts that allowed a dominant wolf to control his pack. "If you are going to keep someone that dangerous under control, you don't let him start thinking that he's too valuable. You don't support him just because he's useful in your hunt. He has to go support himself."

"Okay."

Leslie sounded doubtful and Charles shrugged. "It might be different if our family of killers didn't come from money - then they'd find some other way to make sure he knew he was subordinate."

"They come from money?"

"This much traveling, this many years - if you were looking for a group of poor people, you'd have found them. Money makes a lot of things easier. Murder is just one of them. And they had to have money to be able to afford Sally Reilly."

"Fair enough. Our profilers figured that the Big Game Hunter was well-to-do about fifteen years ago. You were going to speculate about a job."

"Right. He's not bright, and because of that his other nature is going to be difficult to conceal."

"'Other' as in fae?"

Charles nodded. "Yes. So he'll be a box boy at a grocery store or a stocking clerk. Maybe a janitor or handyman. He'd be very strong. Dockworker, if you still have them here."

"Would people remember him?"

"Is he scary, do you mean? Like your husband?" Charles shook his head, following Brother Wolf's instincts. "I don't think so. I think people are going to feel sorry for him. Otherwise he'd be in jail. Scared people generally run or attack. If someone ever attacked this one, he'd kill them. If he went around killing people in the open like that, he'd be in jail or dead."

"All right," Leslie said. "We'll see what we can do with that. Run it by our profilers and see if they agree."

THE CONDO WASN'T home, but it felt welcoming all the same. Charles pulled some steaks out of the fridge and cut them up in bite-sized chunks. One of them he set down on the floor for Anna and the other he ate standing up. His human teeth weren't really sharp enough for the raw meat, but he persevered and was rewarded as the aches and pains gradually settled down as the energy from the food entered his system.

He watched his mate eat with a satisfaction that had never faded since he'd met her, half-starved and wild-eyed. Brother Wolf never forgot how thin she had been, and he would get pushy if he thought Anna wasn't eating enough.

When she was finished eating, she changed back to human.

It always made Charles restless when she changed, seeing her hurting and knowing that there was nothing he could do to help. He paced back and forth a couple of times, then sat down and turned on the TV, idly flipping through channels until Anna, human again, took the controller out of his hand and turned the TV off.

"Bed," she said. "Or you're going to be married to a zombie."

He'd intended to talk with her, he remembered, to tell her about his ghosts. But neither of them was in shape for talk.

Charles looked at her and said in his most serious voice, "I don't think werewolves can become zombies."

"Trust me," she said in a passable zombie voice. "Another ten minutes and I will eat your brains."

He pulled her down onto his lap. "I think I'll chance it."

She sighed as if annoyed, though his nose told him she liked being in his embrace. "So, can you do this without an audience? Is that what's been bothering you these past few months? All I needed to do was invite the pack into our bedroom? You should have told me."

He laughed. She made him laugh. "I don't know. Let's find out."

A RATHER LONG while later, Anna stretched and then flopped comfortably next to him. "Urr, brains," she said.

"Go to sleep," Charles growled, pulling her closer.

"I warned you," she said. "You didn't let me sleep." She yawned widely and said regretfully, "And now I have no choice but to eat your brains."

"Obviously," he said. "You need more exercise before you go to sleep." He rolled onto his back. "I suppose I'll just have to be a good mate and help you with that."

She crawled on top of him, naked and warm and soft, smelling like a miracle that had saved him from a lifetime of aloneness.

"I wouldn't want you to strain anything," Anna told him. "Why don't you just lie back and think of England."

His mouth caught the nearest of her body parts - the soft inside of her elbow - and gave it a light nip. "England is the furthest thing from my mind."

She settled down on top of him, taking him inside her, and he quit talking altogether. Her eyes were blue, her wolf's eyes, when she came for him for the second time that night.

Flushed and joyous, Anna bent down and nipped his ear. "No audience necessary, I see."

"Move," Charles told her.

She laughed again, her eyes still moonlit azure - but she moved.

THEY SLEPT IN.

Charles woke up first and watched her face in the late-morning light. It was peaceful and pleased Brother Wolf even though the moon was waxing nearly full and the urge to hunt always ran strong in his bones at that time. Contentment was still something new for Charles, something he'd never experienced in all his long life before he'd met Anna.

"I've been thinking about the killers," Anna said without opening her eyes. "Three people is a pack."

Charles waited for her to continue.

She sat up with a snap. In a voice filled with hushed excitement she said, "The fae - he's the soldier, the bottom of the pecking order. Doing as he's told, when he's told to do it. The old guy, he's the one who started this. He's the Alpha."

"Mmm," Charles said, when it appeared she needed his agreement. The hunting moon might not be stirring Brother Wolf, as long as he had Anna in his bed, but apparently Anna was feeling it pretty strongly.

"Who is the second young one?" she asked. "Do you think he's the obedient second? Loyal, dedicated? Or is he the Alpha in training, waiting until the old man is too old to control the pack so he can kill him and take over?"

"Neither of us is a trained profiler," he felt obliged to point out.

She bounced in the bed, her brown eyes glittering with excitement. "Now that Lizzie is rescued, all we have to do is solve the rest."

"As they have been trying to do for longer than you've been alive," he told her dryly.

"Yes," she said, "but they didn't have you and me on the case."

They had a TV now, and satellite - mostly so Anna could watch her detective shows. She was enjoying this. Charles...He supposed he was enjoying it, too. More now that the innocents were safe, in the hospital or the morgue.

"Motive," she said in the same voice he imagined Archimedes might have said, "Eureka!" in his bath all those years ago.

"Doesn't work the same way in serial-killer cases as it does in most murders," he said. "Serial killers are addicted to the hunt and they aren't capable of stopping, most of them. Their lives are controlled by the kill."

"He's tagging his victims," Anna said. "What does that say?"

"These are less than human," said Charles, repeating what they both knew. "Animals I have killed."

"Right. Animals that he has killed. He's claiming the kill with that tag." She frowned. "Aren't serial killers supposed to try to step into the investigation? To watch people struggle and fail to solve the case - or to control the case better?"

"I've heard that," Charles agreed. "For some kinds of killers."

She grinned at him.

"All of which the FBI knows better than we do," he said. "We've probably helped the case as much as we can until someone else is taken."

Anna sobered. "It's too bad we weren't able to hurt the horned lord worse than we did. He was mostly healed by the time he hit the top of the stairs - did you notice? The police don't have a chance against him."

"We'll stay here for a while. Leslie and Goldstein seemed to be sensible people. They'll call us in if they need us."

She tilted her head and asked, "What does Brother Wolf say about all of this?"

"That these hunters didn't get what they want; we stole their prey. They're going to be hungry and even more dangerous. On the other hand, I, Charles, say that we ought to eat something, as it is long past morning and we missed breakfast and are in danger of missing lunch - and Brother Wolf is pleased to concur."

"You are always trying to feed me," she accused him without heat as she got out of bed.

"No, that's Brother Wolf." Charles smiled. "I'll cook."

CHARLES HAD MEANT to talk to her about his ghosts over breakfast, because he'd been tired last night, and then he'd been distracted. But something she had said nagged at him.

"Charles?" Anna asked patiently.

"Sorry," he told her. "Thinking."

"Do you want some more bacon, or should I put it in the fridge for later?"

There were four pieces left. He took two and ate them. Then he took the other two and held them up to her mouth. "You need more protein."

She rolled her eyes, but ate them anyway.

"I need to look something up on the Internet," he said. "Can you get the dishes?"

"You cooked; I'll clean," she said.

He took his laptop into the spare bedroom where there was a small writing desk. It was slower than his desktop at home and the screen was too small to let him pull up as many images at a time as he liked to - and the Internet connection here was not too fast, either. He growled in frustration as his fingers flew over the keyboard, as if by moving faster he could coax the machine to greater effort.

He started out with the legitimate things he had access to - Goldstein had sent him a file on the case, as he had promised - and then dug deeper. These killers, these UNSUBS, they had money - had power. Anna was right: they would not be able to stay out of the investigation.

At some point Anna brought him a pizza - though he hadn't noticed her ordering it. A little later she came in to tap him on the shoulder.

"You, Isaac, and I have been invited to a celebration for Lizzie's safe return," she told him.

"I'm waiting for two phone calls," Charles said.

"This would be an excellent time for some PR with the Boston Police Department - which is important for the Olde Towne Pack. Isaac told me they've had some issues this year."

He rolled his seat back from the desk and looked at his mate. She looked a little antsy and her brown eyes glowed slightly, highlighted with her wolf's light blue.

It was dark outside, which meant she'd been cooped up in here for hours with nothing to do but watch TV. And it was close to the full moon. It wasn't fair to make her sit around any longer.

"This may be a wild-goose chase, but I'm on to something and I'd like to finish it up," he told her. "Would you agree to letting Isaac be your escort?" Brother Wolf didn't like it, but Charles didn't want to smother her. He might be finished in five minutes - or twelve hours. And Isaac was a good fighter; Charles had seen it last night. He'd been outmatched in sheer size and strength and hampered by not being able to see their opponent, but he'd fought smart.

"I don't need a bodyguard," said Anna, not fooled for a moment by Charles calling Isaac an escort, but Charles hadn't expected to get away with it. "We're going somewhere that will be filled with cops and FBI agents and werewolves. It should be pretty safe. And isn't an Alpha above being a bodyguard?"

"Humor me," said Charles.

She sighed heavily - then ruined it with a sly grin. "I told Isaac to come pick me up - and that you were going to make him responsible for my health and well-being."

"If you knew what I was going to say, why did you come in here and bother me?" He growled with mock annoyance.

Anna laughed. "I'm going to go change."

"Let me know when you leave," he said, already caught up in his work again. Where had he been before she interrupted him?

When he next emerged, she was gone.

"HE LETS YOU out alone?" Isaac, without Charles to put him on edge, was more relaxed than Anna had thought, but also more pushy.

"I'm with you. Besides, werewolf here," she told him with a thumb to her chest. "Not exactly a frail princess in need of rescuing."

"That's not what I heard about you," Isaac said. "I asked about you. Omega. I was informed by my second that we should be honored that you were visiting our city. We should bring you gifts and see if we can get you to abandon your pack and join ours. When I pointed out that that meant Charles would come, too - and displace me - I was told that the blessing of having an Omega in the pack would outweigh even putting up with Charles."

Anna laughed. "Old wolves. Think they know everything."

"And then he wonders why I don't ask him more questions," Isaac agreed. "So do it."

Anna looked at him just as a raindrop hit her nose. The clouds had been threatening and the air smelled wet, but that was the first drop. "Do what?"

"'That voodoo that you do,'" Isaac said. At her expression he turned to walk backward so she could get the full effect of his eye roll and comic exaggeration. "What? You don't know Adam Ant?"

"'A thrill a day keeps the chill away,'" she sang, then said dryly, "Not his best song. You want me to what? Zap you with my awesome cosmic super Omega powers?"

"That's what I said." Isaac turned so he was walking beside her once more. "Only my request sounded cool, and yours sounds like it belongs on Saturday morning cartoons."

"They are more of an anti-superpower," Anna explained as the first few drops of water became a more steady rainfall. "If I were in a comic book, I'd be the lone stupid girl in a team of awesome, powerfully charged males. Like Sue, Invisible Girl - who was invisible in so many ways - in the Fantastic Four. Which should have been called the Fantastic Three and the Cute and Clueless Girl Who Runs Around Getting into Trouble and Being Rescued."

Isaac grinned, his expression lighter, that edge that Alphas always carried with them softened. "Not even Jessica Alba could save Sue from being wimpy."

Anna sighed in a misery-shared way. "I like superhero movies. Still, it was better than Catwoman - and Catwoman had much better material to draw from."

"So are you going to whammy me?" Isaac asked again.

She waved and did something fluttery with her fingers in her best stage magician manner, though she'd already hit him while he was quoting from "That Voodoo." She contorted her face and made funny gobbling sounds, then said, in the perfectly serious voice she'd picked up from Charles, "Consider yourself whammied."

They strode along companionably for a block. "I don't feel whammied," he said.

"What do you feel?" she asked.

Isaac took three more steps before he stiffened and stopped. "I haven't been drunk since I was changed," he whispered. "What did you do to me?"

"You aren't drunk. Not impaired physically or mentally," Anna told him.

He bowed his head, working his hands; then he turned and started walking backward again, facing her. Anna followed, keeping a sharp eye out for things he might back into or over. She wondered if Isaac did this all the time - and, if so, how he avoided getting photos in the paper with captions like "Local Alpha Trips over Child" or "Wolf Versus Street Sign, Street Sign Wins."

"I'm myself again," he said, his face almost slack with wonder. "It's just me in here." He tapped his forehead. "One night before the full moon and I don't want to hunt or sink my teeth into anything." He blinked rapidly and turned back around again so she couldn't see his face anymore. After a moment he said, "It's like the wolf is gone." There was a hint of worry in his voice.

"No," Anna answered. "Just...at peace. You could start changing right now if you wanted to."

"Before God, it is no wonder my second was salivating at the thought of you," Isaac said. "Do you worry about being kidnapped?" His voice altered just a little. "I heard that Charles rescued you from an abusive situation." He glanced over at her, his eyes glowing light yellow. The other effect of being Omega was that dominant wolves tended to be overly protective of her.

She nodded her head. "Charles saved me. My first pack turned me and kept me under their thumb. One of their old ones was crazy and her mate thought I could keep her sane. When Charles got through dealing with them, he taught me how to rescue myself." Charles had helped her regain confidence in herself. But no matter how competent she was at protecting herself, Anna knew what ultimately kept her safe from wolf packs who wanted an Omega of their own. "If someone tries to kidnap me, Charles will hunt them down. Do you know very many wolves who would be willing to face that?"

"The Marrok's bogeyman?" asked Isaac with a snort. "No." He paused a moment. "Especially if they've ever seen him fight. Hally told me that he wouldn't be able to see that fae - just know when he was around. But Charles fought like he could, like he knew exactly where it was. And I've never seen anyone - not werewolf, not vampire, not anyone - move that fast."

"His gift," Anna agreed. His bane. Maybe if he hadn't been such a good fighter, his father would have sent someone else to maintain order among his packs. But that wasn't for public discussion. She needed to change subjects.

"So where are we going?" A diner would be perfect - just a little worn-down, with cracked Naugahyde seats and scuffed-up, bad-imitation wood-grain Formica tables, where coffee was served to everyone in white cups and all of the meals were cooked in unhealthy grease: a cop's hangout, the cliche of every cop film or novel.

"When Goldstein called me, I offered to host the party at The Irish Wolfhound," Isaac told her. "The pub owned by our pack. There's a big room for parties."

Anna couldn't help being a little disappointed. "I was hoping for a diner."

Isaac laughed. "The food's better at the Wolfhound, and we're less likely to have uninvited guests." Amusement died from his face, and the smile he gave Anna was tight and unhappy. "As I told you, there are members of our law enforcement community who dislike us and would love to provoke a fight under the cover of too much drink. This way it's just the people who are working on this case - and most of them are way too ecstatic about Lizzie's rescue to be fussy about how it was done."

"It seems like a lot of celebrating, when we didn't catch the killers," Anna said.

Isaac nodded. "It's like when I was in high school. My junior year our football team just had this...synergy. The year before, the year after, they were good. But that year, they not only had the players; they had the team. No one even scored against them until the last game of the season. The other team scored a field goal in the fourth quarter - and the stands erupted. You'd have thought they won the game instead of losing by thirty-odd points. What they had done was what no one else had managed to do."

"I see," Anna said.

Isaac's white teeth flashed. "We didn't win this one," he said. "But we didn't lose, either."

"You weren't on that football team, were you?" There had been something in his voice and the way he referred to his high school team as "they."

"Nope. I was the little geek the football team halfback liked to shove into gym lockers for fun when the team captain wasn't around to keep him in line. Sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly mean, I'd love to meet Jody Weaver again and have him try to shove me in a locker now."

Anna laughed...paused, because she didn't know football, but she had a father and brother who were football fanatics. "I know that name. Jody Weaver. He's a big deal, right?"

Isaac nodded. "Went on to get rich and famous - and he's still a bastard. Proving once and for all that life is not fair."

"Speaking of not fair," Anna said, "have you heard anything about Lizzie? I called Leslie earlier, but all she knew was that she was listed as stable and that they already had her in the operating room for her knee."

Isaac shook his head. "You know more than I do. I left a message on Beauclaire's phone and invited him over tonight. I suspect he won't be leaving the hospital."

"Were there any clues to be had on the island?" Anna already knew that the forensic people hadn't found much from her earlier conversation with Leslie. But there was a possibility that Isaac or his witch might have found something they hadn't talked to the authorities about.

Isaac shook his head. "No. It was like they knew the island would be searched by werewolves - the whole prison area had been doused with ammonia. They found a few personal effects, enough to determine that Jacob, Otten, and a couple of the other victims had been kept there."

"If they had known we were coming, they'd have moved Lizzie," Anna said.

Isaac nodded. "Right. I suppose it was in preparation for a worst-case scenario. They've been killing werewolves. They don't want us to figure out who they are."

Isaac's explanation made sense. He was probably right. And if he wasn't, they'd figure it out when the bastards were caught.

THE RAIN WAS pouring down when they reached the pub. Irish pubs in Boston, Anna had noticed, were sort of like pizza parlors in Chicago: there were a lot of them and most of them served pretty good food.

Just inside the door lurked a life-sized, wooden Irish wolfhound. It was, Anna judged, only a little smaller in height than Charles, but about a quarter as broad. Around his neck was a sign that read WELCOME FRIEND.

Isaac waved one hand at the hostess and, with his other hand at the small of Anna's back, directed her to a rough-sawn wooden staircase. At the top of the stairs, just past the restrooms, was a door marked PRIVATE PARTY.

Through the door was a big room with four trestle tables with chairs and benches mixed in, filled with people, most of whom Anna didn't know. Celtic music filtered in through speakers in the ceiling, and there were pitchers of beer and water on all the tables.

A waitress came in through a door in the back of the room. She put her fingers to her mouth and whistled. Anna had plugged her ears as soon as the girl's fingers touched her lips, and the piercing noise still hurt. She could pick out the werewolves, because they were the ones with grimaces on their faces. She recognized Malcolm, of course, but there were three others in the room, too.

Quiet descended.

"All right, gents and ladies all. There's beer and water on the table and we'll keep the pitchers full until nine p.m. If you want something different to drink, our Isaac says he'll cover it, too - " She broke off, interrupted by cheers. Isaac bowed, and nodded for the waitress to continue. "Again until nine, after that your food and drink comes out of your pocket. We'll be coming around for orders for food. Our specialty is bangers and mash, but we have a great stew tonight and the fish and chips are to die for. Enjoy!"

She retreated through the door at her back to another smattering of applause, and two young men and a middle-aged woman came in through the same door and started to take orders.

Anna looked around. There were maybe thirty people in the room - if seven were werewolves, that meant that there were twenty-three police officers. Which seemed like a lot until she laid eyes on Leslie. The FBI agent was sitting beside a giant of a man who looked as though he could do his share of shoving people into lockers. He made two or maybe even three of Leslie and, while she talked to a pair of plainclothes police officers, he kept a big hand on the back of her neck. This must be the football-playing husband Leslie had talked about.

If everyone had brought a date, the numbers made more sense. She caught sight of one of the two Cantrip agents, the one who was not Heuter. His name had started with a P. Patrick...Patrick Morris. He was talking to Goldstein. So it wasn't just police officers here. She decided to avoid him if possible, just in case he shared Heuter's views on werewolves.

Leslie looked up, saw Anna, and waved her over. In the two hours that followed, Anna found herself shuffled around from one table to another, answering questions about being a werewolf. In a quiet moment, she pointed out, rather grumpily, to Leslie that there were six other werewolves - Isaac and his five pack mates - in the room. So why was everyone asking her questions?

"All the wolves are answering questions," Leslie replied. "But you're easier to talk to - women aren't as threatening as men." She thought about it. "Most women, anyway - I know a few that would scare any person with a modicum of sense. But you're approachable. And you are going away soon. So if they offend you, they don't have to live with the consequences."

So Anna explained, over and over, that werewolves could control themselves when they ran as wolves - though they tended to be hot-tempered. Yes, all werewolves had to change during the full moon, but most of them could change whenever they wished it. Yes, silver could kill a werewolf - so could beheading or a number of other things. (Bran thought it important that the public not perceive werewolves as invulnerable.) No, most of the werewolves that she knew were staunch Christians and none of them that she knew of worshipped Satan. Once, she recited a few biblical verses to prove that she could do so. She'd have been more exasperated about that one, but there were things out there that couldn't quote scripture (not that she told them that).

"Your husband's a werewolf, right?" said one young man as she walked by his table.

"That's right," she told him.

"You ever have sex as wolves? Is it different from normal sex? Do you like it better?" He grinned hugely and took a swig from his glass, obviously thinking he'd gotten one over on her. But Anna had been raised in a household of men - her father, her brother, and all of her brother's friends who thought of her as a little sister. He'd had a lot of friends.

"You ever have sex with your mother?" she asked casually. "Was it better than with your girlfriend or did you prefer it with your boyfriend or your pet rat?"

His jaw dropped open and the guy nearest him slapped him on the head and told him, "And that is why you are never going to get a date, Chuck. You see a pretty girl and the things your mama taught you about politeness and all the IQ points you can't count on your fingers to keep track of just leave your head - and then you are compelled to open your mouth. Women are not impressed by crudeness." He looked at Anna. "He apologizes for being a dumbass. He'll feel really bad about it in about four hours when he starts to sober up. He's really a good cop and not usually - " He looked at the offending man and sighed. "Well, okay. There's a reason he doesn't date much."

"How did you know I had a pet rat?" said Chuck in a tone filled with awe. He was really drunk and had probably missed the point of everything anyone else had said in the last few minutes: everything except, evidently, the rat.

Several of his buddies laughed and gave him a hard time.

Anna smiled; she couldn't help it - he sounded about six years old. "I can smell him." And that started another round of questions.

It wasn't exactly a fun evening - Anna felt like she'd spent most of her time walking a tightrope. But it was better than being stuck in the condo while Charles buried himself in electronics. And it wasn't all bad. She enjoyed meeting Leslie's husband, who was funny and smart - and offered to stuff Chuck in a wastebasket. The fish and chips were superb and so was the stew.

Eventually the fascination with werewolves seemed to wear off and Anna found a quiet table in a corner where she could relax and watch everyone.

The crude Chuck's friend saw her and came over to apologize again. "He knows he's stupid when he drinks, so he usually doesn't. It was just a bad day today, you know? The last call we took before coming here was a domestic abuse call - some lady's boyfriend beat her up and then started in on her toddler. Chuck has a little boy he hasn't seen since his ex-wife moved to California, and he took it pretty hard."

"I have bad days, too," Anna told him. "I understand. Don't worry about it."

Chuck's friend nodded and wandered off.

She closed her eyes for a minute. She was a little short on sleep thanks to Charles, and it made her eyes dry.

Someone came over and sat on the chair opposite her. Anna opened her eyes to see Beauclaire pouring himself a glass of beer.

"Isaac said he invited you," she told him. "But we were pretty sure you weren't coming."

"Lizzie's out of the operating room," he told her, sipping his beer as if it were fine wine. "Her mother and stepfather are there - and Lizzie will be drugged and sleeping until tomorrow." He took a bigger sip. "Her mother thinks it is my fault that she was taken. As I agree with her, it was difficult to defend myself, and so I retreated here."

Anna shook her head. "Never accept the blame for what evil people do. We are all responsible for our own actions." She was lecturing him, so she stopped. "Sorry. Hang around with Bran too long, and see if you don't start passing around the Marrok's advice as if he were Confucius. How is Lizzie doing?"

"Her knee was crushed." He looked at the wall behind Anna where there was a very nice print of an Irish castle. "They might repair it enough so she can walk, but dancing is definitely out."

"I'm so sorry," Anna said.

"She's alive, right?" Beauclaire said, and took a long, slow drink. "The things they carved in her skin...In time, the surgeons might be able to get rid of them, they think. Until then, every time she looks in a mirror she'll have the reminder of what she went through." He paused. "She knows she'll never dance again. It broke her."

"Maybe not," said Leslie. She sat down beside Anna on the dark brown bench seat and put her purse on the table. "Someone gave something to me, a long time ago - and I've never used it. I think mostly because I was afraid. What if I'd tried to use it and it failed?"

She opened her purse, dug down until she found her wallet, and slipped a plain white card out, handing it to Beauclaire. It looked like a business card to Anna, but instead of a name, the word GIFT was typed in the center of the card.

Beauclaire took it and rubbed his fingers across it, and a faint smile crossed his face. "And how did you get this?"

Leslie looked uncomfortable - almost embarrassed. "It's real, right?"

He nodded, still playing with the card. "It's real, all right."

She took a deep breath. "It happened like this," she said, and spun a tale of monsters who ate children and childhood dreams - including Leslie's puppy - and a fierce old woman who knew a little of the fae, and about a debt owed and a bargain made.

"You can use it to fix your daughter's knee?" Leslie asked.

Beauclaire shook his head and handed the card back to Leslie. "No. But I'll remember you offered - and I'll give you some advice, if you don't mind. The fae who gave that to you did it with the best of intentions. For all that we do not reproduce, we tend to be a very long-lived people. Treasach was very old, and powerful, too. But death comes for us all, eventually, and it came to him."

Leslie tucked the card away and rubbed her eyes with the edge of her finger so her makeup wouldn't run. "I don't know why I'm feeling this way. It's stupid. I met him once, for less than ten minutes...and...I won't forget him."

"No," agreed Beauclaire gravely. "Treasach was a marvel. Poet, fighter, joyful companion, and there are no more of his like to be found. None of us will forget him. Fae magic, though, sometimes has a mind of its own. That was given to you to resolve a debt. He intended it to be a gift and a blessing, but his death means that his will no longer binds that bit of magic. Use it or not, as you wish - but use it for a small thing, or for something that equals the grief of a good man who could not spare a child the pain of her puppy's fate. If you remember his exact words, use it for that - by his words and by the debt this magic is tamed. Go beyond those things with your wish, and it will cause havoc of an unpleasant kind."

"Do you have healers?" Anna asked.

"Healing is among the great magics and we have very few healers left among us - and most of them are even less trustworthy than Treasach's gift would be." He took a drink of his beer and nodded to Leslie. "My daughter will walk again, but she will not dance. It is the way of mortals. They fling themselves at life and emerge broken."

"She survived," said Anna. "She's tough. She fought them every step of the way. She'll make it."

Beauclaire nodded politely. "Some mortals do. Some of them make it just fine when horrible things happen to them. Some of them..." He shook his head and took another sip of his beer and then said with quiet savagery, "Sometimes broken people stay broken." He looked at her. "Why am I telling you all of this?"

Anna shrugged. "People talk to me." She didn't know what else to say, so she followed her impulse. "I've been where Lizzie is, brutalized and terrified. Someone rescued me before my captors were able to kill me. Next to that...losing something she loves is tragic. But she doesn't seem to be the kind who will think that she would be better off dead - not in the long run."

Beauclaire looked at his glass. "I'm sorry to hear that you had to be rescued."

She shrugged again. "That which does not destroy us makes us stronger, right?" It came out sounding flippant, so she added, "I knew a woman when I was in school. She was smart, a talented musician, and hardworking. She came to college and found out that those weren't enough to make her a first violin, or even a second - and she tried to kill herself because she had to sit with the third violins. It was the first real disappointment she'd ever had in her life and she didn't know how to deal with it. Those of us who live in the real world and survive horrible things, we emerge stronger and ready to face tomorrow. Lizzie will be okay."

Beauclaire frowned at her. He looked away and then said, "You might visit her and tell her that."

She didn't want to. She wasn't a counselor and she didn't like talking about what had happened to her to strangers - though it hadn't stopped her tonight, had it? Anna was okay because Charles found her and taught her to be strong. Lizzie would have to find her own strength, and Anna didn't know how to tell her where to find it.

"I'll see what I can do," she promised reluctantly. She was exhausted from being on display, and from thinking about things she'd tried to put behind her. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go visit the ladies' room."

She left Leslie talking to the fae and let herself out of the banquet room. Away from the noise and the room full of mostly strangers, Anna felt better. She'd use the restroom, eat the food she'd ordered, and go home.

When she came out of the restroom, she wasn't pleased to see that Agent Heuter was leaning against the wall next to the door. There was no one left in the restaurant proper - it must have closed at ten. So she and Heuter were alone in the hallway next to the entrance for the room where the party was still going strong.

"So you are the heroine of the day," he said.

Something in his voice didn't track and she frowned at him. "Not really, no. If you'll excuse me?"

But he stepped in front of her. "No. I don't think so. Not today."

And someone who wasn't there grabbed her from behind and sent her to sleep.