I was surprised to awaken to the early-morning rays of sunlight cutting across the room. My head rested on a pillow, and a soft blanket lay over me. Charlie, still looking harmless and human, slept on the bench. Douglas perched over him like a feathered sentinel. A pillow had been tucked under Charlie’s head as well, and a quilt had been draped over his lower half. A little color had returned to his cheeks, and a proper bandage of white gauze was wrapped expertly around his chest and back, though beads of sweat still glistened on his brow and his skin looked clammy.

I watched his chest rise and fall with shallow breaths. A bruise was beginning to blossom along his side in yellows and blues, and the cuts were everywhere, red and angry. As my eyes passed over each mark, the blows replayed in my memory. My breath caught in my throat, and I felt my chest throb in a dull ache.

My own small scar was tender as I reached a hand to the injury, but the sensation was something deeper. The thought of Charlie, as either man or beast, falling victim to that horrible monster on my behalf was a dreadful barb, caught beneath my ribs. Now, as he lay barely breathing beside me, I had to add guilt to the already confusing emotions I felt for the man. Hushed voices from the hallway drew my mind back into the room. I craned my neck and listened.

“You really shouldn’t have moved him in that condition,” a woman whispered. It was not Hatun or Jenny, but the cadence and Irish accent were familiar.

Jackaby answered her. “I realized the risk, but Inspector Marlowe made it quite clear that after last night, leaving him where the police force would be responsible for him would be far more hazardous to the poor fellow’s health. Thank you for coming so quickly. This has been a rather bizarre situation, and not an easy one for you to be thrust into.”

“If what you said last night truly happened, then I owe him at least this much for the part he played in all this.”

“How soon do you think it would be safe to move him again?”

“Let him rest as long as you can, but all things considered, he’s healing remarkably well.”

“I’m sure the lunar cycle has had a little to do with that. We can only hope his convalescence continues so well from here on. Thank you again, Miss O’Connor.”

Light poured in as the hallway door slid open. Mona O’Connor, the nurse from the Emerald Arch, came through first. She looked exhausted, with curly strands of red hair escaping from where they had been pushed behind her ears, and dark, rust red stains smattered across her apron. She gave me a nod.