The chase took us out of the city center and toward the outskirts of town. We ran along the backside of several factory yards before the shrubs and bushes gave way to a grassy stretch spotted with birch trees. Away from the icy brickwork, my feet found purchase more reliably, and it was a little easier to keep pace with Jackaby as we cut across the sod. I even began to spot the telltale signs of the creature now. The moonlight sparkled on the tall, icy grasses, except in one long, dark path, cut like a scar down the center of the field. Something had carved a quick route through here, leaving a wake of bent and trampled plant life. As we hopped over a mud puddle, I spotted a giant, smeary paw print. I didn’t need to be a seer or a master sleuth to know we were headed in the right direction.

The tracks took us along the edge of a stream, its banks lined with ice and slush, and ahead I spotted the familiar sight of Hammett’s bridge. I hardly recognized it at first, though it had been scarcely a day since we had met Hatun on this very spot. How different it had seemed then, with the funny little woman hanging her fishing line over the ice in full daylight. Now, with water churning past chunks of ice and foreboding shadows bleeding into more ominous darkness, the old woman’s superstitions about monsters lurking under the bridge seemed suddenly less benign.

I pushed the idea away as we hit the bridge, not wanting idle thoughts of trolls gnawing on my bones to get in the way of my genuine, reasonable fear of being ripped to shreds by—I allowed myself to think it—a werewolf. I noticed that even in his haste, Jackaby still absently pitched a couple of copper coins over the side of the bridge as he crossed it. I guess he, like Hatun with her token fishing efforts, felt it never hurt to cover all your bases. An idea flashed through my head.

“Jackaby, wait!” I skidded around the corner at the end of the bridge and stumbled down to the water’s edge, to the spot where I had first seen Hatun. I laid the old books to the side and peered into the shadows under the bridge. It was pitch-black beneath the little arch, but my probing fingers quickly found what I was looking for. For the briefest of moments I could have sworn I felt clammy fingers on my wrist as I pulled it free. “I just have to borrow this for a bit,” I assured the darkness. “I swear I’ll bring you a whole halibut if we make it through this alive.” My hand slid free, holding tight to the pole.

Jackaby skidded down the slope to stop beside me. “What on earth are you doing?” he demanded. “We don’t have time to go fishing!”