After dinner, we watched the news, and I listened to Diane freak out about the new sightings of the Animal Guy … and at least one sighting of an Animal Gal. Equally unnerving were reports of vigilantes on the streets, determined to capture Animal Guy, either on camera or for real. The city had announced it was upping patrols to the East Side and southern Pawtucket. Police had issued statements reiterating that anyone with a weapon had better have a permit to carry it, and that they would have zero tolerance for rule breakers. It seemed like they were less worried about the Animal Guy and more concerned about regular citizens getting their crazy on. Part of me was relieved, and part of me was cursing. The more people were on guard, the less likely someone was to be dragged away. On the other hand, some people were going in search of the Mazikin. The whole thing had the potential to get seriously out of control.

After Diane left for her night shift at the prison, I picked up my motley crew of Guards and drove us through Providence, along the narrow streets of the East Side, toward the area where several of the Mazikin sightings had taken place. It was less than a mile from the place where we’d be tomorrow morning, helping Tegan serve up soup to the homeless, which made me both eager to find the nest—and hopeful that it wasn’t anywhere near this part of town.

Jim looked vaguely sick as we got out of the car, and I had to wonder if, like Malachi, he didn’t have much experience riding in one. Either that or he was hungover. Henry claimed he didn’t know where Jim had gotten the bottle, but while we were at school, the younger Guard had been getting trashed. Malachi had returned home to find him vomiting into the bathtub. Judging by the stony silence on the ride over, the last several hours had been rough for all three of them.

Jim was freshly showered and dressed in new clothes that made him look like an all-American high school kid. Like the rest of us, he was armed, but not obviously so. He carried a baton in the backpack slung over his shoulder and had a knife in his pocket. “Now what?” he asked, sounding like he’d rather be at home sleeping it off.

“Now you wait for your orders,” Malachi barked, making Jim wince and rub his temples.

I touched Malachi’s arm, but pulled my hand away when I realized Henry was watching us closely. “Jim and I will patrol north and west. Malachi and Henry, head south and east, toward some of the homeless camps along the Blackstone River. We can meet back here at midnight.”