“I am the wolf,” the man shouted. “I am the wolf!”

With some difficultly, Heather bucked him off, causing him to smash his head into the door frame. For a second he was stunned, and she took the opportunity to scramble away.

“Who are you? Where’s Nikki?” The knife was by her foot, so she snatched it up. She had dropped the phone, but to her surprise he stood up and flicked a light switch in the bedroom, casting them both into a harsh artificial glow. “I … who are you?”

He stood unmoving, watching her. Now that there was more light, she could see that they weren’t identical after all, of course they weren’t. He had a wider jaw and thicker eyebrows, and there were scars, lots of them, crisscrossing their way up his forearms. His hair, too, was shorter. But other than that, the resemblance was uncanny—there was little doubt who he was, not really. For a strange, horrible few seconds, Heather found she wanted to laugh, or be sick; she wasn’t sure which.

“Why do you look like me?” He sounded petulant almost, a child angry because he was confused. His hand crept up to his head, touching the place where he had struck it on the door jamb.

“I’m your sister.” Heather paused and made a strangled noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I’m your bloody sister, aren’t I? Who’s your dad?”

He looked confused by the question. Instead, he took out a knife from his back pocket. It was slim and lethal, and not clean. As he held it up, Heather found herself noticing other details about him; his hands had spots of blood on them, and his shirt, which was a dark navy blue, had darker patches on it.

“Listen,” he said. “Listen.” He shook the knife at her. “I am the wolf. I am the barghest. There can’t be two of us. It’s my job.”

“What is? What is your job?”

He took a step forward, and Heather held her own knife up in front of her. If she got up and fled down the stairs, she’d have to turn her back on him, and she still didn’t know where Nikki was.

“To take them home.” The last word was filled with such longing, such raw emotion, that Heather found herself bewildered. Tears were running freely down his gaunt face. “They were born here, they belong to the woods, so I’m just bringing them back to their home. I can’t let you stop me from doing that, because it’s what I was made for.”

“What do you mean, they were born here?” With a shudder, Heather remembered Anna in the hospital, her hands hovering over her stomach. How she had shouted about the baby—the baby taken from her. “Fucking hell. The babies born on the commune, is that what you mean? They would be my age now, or older, and you’re …” The sea roared in the silence. “What’s your name?”