The commissioner’s body spasmed and twisted upright until Swift was on his knees. His grotesque face contorted in agony, and his eyes went mad with confusion and rage. Smoke seeped from his charcoal gray coat, and he lurched forward. Whether because of the brace still lashed to his left leg or whatever internal hell was boiling inside him, he stumbled, clanking and crumpling to the dirt before he could take a full step. Swift’s sharp, leathery fingers clawed at the mossy earth, pulling him forward a few more feet before his arms, too, gave out and he shrank into himself, writhing in misery. The air grew thick with acrid clouds of smoke, and the commissioner’s clothing crumbled into soot, the skin beneath crackling and flaking away like ash. All the while, the man screamed in wretched fury, his voice losing all humanity and deteriorating into the guttural howls of an animal in pain.

And then it was over. The screams ceased and the air was thick with inky, pungent smoke. The hat’s stiff brim, the only skeletal remains of the wretched item, shifted and slid into the heart of the little fire beside us.

No one spoke as the smoke gradually cleared. There, at the edge of the flickering firelight, lay a scorched patch of moss, a few hinged rods with burnt leather straps, and two thick, iron shoes.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Time passed in uneven flashes as I drifted in and out of consciousness. In one moment I was on the cold forest floor, and in the next I was lying atop the desk in Jackaby’s front room. Jenny was hovering over me, looking gentle and reassuring. The same ghostly face that had sent me tumbling backward over my chair two days before now filled me with a sense of relief and normalcy.

In a blink, Jenny was gone. Jackaby and someone else—old Hatun, I realized—were setting Charlie onto the broad wooden bench on the opposite wall. Somewhere between the darkness of the forest and the paving stones of Augur Lane, he had returned to a human shape. He was naked except for the blood-caked strips of fabric that had once been a blouse. His face was nearly as white as Jenny’s, and he was drenched with sweat. My head swam and I stared, unable to look away from the terrible damage. Without fur to hide them, the deep red gashes from Swift’s claws were visible all over him. Worst of all was his shoulder. In his human state, it appeared Charlie had been stabbed just under his right clavicle, barely above his lung. I winced and closed my eyes, fighting back tears as I realized he would be lucky to survive the night.