“The Pack,” I prompted.

“Let me tell you how my new myth will go,” the Jackal said. “In the new age of magic, when it was young, a vile serpent emerged, threatening the sanity of all people. Mighty God Inepu and his faceless retainers battled him, and slew him, and triumphed. All those who do not wish to be devoured by the serpent of madness give thanks to the mighty Inepu. Ask for his blessing. Ask for his wisdom. Offer your prayers to him so he may shield you with his might. He is the mighty warrior, the awe-inspiring slayer.”

“That is an ambitious plan.” So I was to be a faceless minion and he was to become a warrior god.

The Jackal looked at me. “Don’t mock me, pup. Godhood is like a drug; once you taste it, there is no turning back.”

“I still don’t understand why you won’t let the Pack assist.”

“Because they are led by a First,” the Jackal said.

“Curran?”

The Jackal nodded. “It is how I began, as a First. What is more impressive, a jackal or a lion? Which would you fear more? To whom would you offer your prayers?”

I blinked. “You’re afraid Curran will steal your godhood?”

“Afraid is a strong word. I fear nothing.” The Jackal laid his head on his front paws and twitched his ear.

“Except being forgotten,” I said.

“There is that.”

“And how does my body fit into your scheme? Wouldn’t you be changing gender?”

“I don’t care,” he said. “A god or a goddess, as long as I grow in power.”

“One small problem,” I told him. “For this plan to work, Apep has to resurrect, and we’ve got his scale.”

“The scale isn’t necessary to his resurrection.”

“What? So we’ve done all of this for nothing?”

The Jackal raised his head. “Of course not. The scale is his armor. Without it, he will be easier to kill. He will be softer.”

“Where? Where are they resurrecting him?”

The Jackal laughed under his breath.

I grabbed his ear and sank my nails into the flesh. “Where are they going to resurrect him? When?”

“I don’t know.” The Jackal whirled and bit me, taking half of my body into his huge mouth from the side. Teeth pierced my stomach and my back. “You’re the detective. Figure it out.”

The world snapped back at me in a rush of blinding pain, and I saw Doolittle’s eyes above a surgical mask. Agony gripped my arm. Raphael snarled, “She’s bleeding!”

“It will be fine,” Doolittle said, his voice calm and steady.

Some female shapeshifter I didn’t know pulled the sheet down from me. A curved row of bloody teeth marks gaped in my stomach.

“I’m good,” I ground out. “Keep going.”