I nearly tumbled straight into him, but caught myself and froze, mere inches away. As I looked into the commissioner’s face, the glamour melted away. He looked as he had always looked, but my mind finally allowed me to see the features I had been forcefully ignoring until now. Above a grotesquely wide mouth full of too many sharp teeth, the bridge of his nose curved upward into a severe brow. His ears, which bent slightly under the brim of the hat, were pointed, and his skin was blotched and leathery. Hard, crooked cheekbones skewed the whole of his face in a disturbing angle. Most frightening of all was that horrible mouth and the jagged, bloodstained teeth—teeth that called to mind broken bottles and razor blades. He laughed, and his breath reeked with the coppery stench of the blood. He was a cat, toying with his prey before the kill.

There could be no escape, but my feet pulled me backward anyway. I tripped, landing at the base of an old tree. Jackaby’s books fell from my hands to the muddy roots. Swift’s lip twisted up in a final, wicked smirk, and vicious, bloodstained claws extended from his fingertips. Done playing with me, the cat pounced.

And so did the dog.

Swift was in the air, his horrible fangs and claws arcing toward me, when the massive hound hammered into him from the side. The two slammed into the ground and rolled. Swift’s cane bounced away, his dark coat whipping and tangling around the shaggy brown fur of the beast. They ground to a stop, the enormous dog pinning the commissioner’s shoulders under two heavy paws. It growled and snapped at the commissioner, who snarled back and ducked away from the hound’s jaws. Swift’s legs squeaked once beneath the hairy creature, and then the massive hound flew backward, the heavy iron boots cracking hard off its ribs. The beast collided with a broad tree and thudded to the ground, letting out a very human groan.

His handsome face had warped and vanished beneath the fur, but those warm brown eyes were still unmistakable. They were full of fear and pain and humanity as he shook off the impact and tried to reorient himself. Swift was up and behind him in seconds, claws out and teeth gnashing before the shaggy hound had even pushed itself to its feet. The dog was moving far too slowly. Someone screamed, “Charlie!” and I realized it was me.

The commissioner shot me a poisonous glance before lunging toward his target, but it was just enough of a pause for the hound to whip around, so that the attack glanced off his flank instead of striking his jugular. Three lines of red blossomed across Charlie’s shoulder. A few inches closer and Swift surely would have opened the hound’s throat.