had stolen a peek while my T-shirt was torn. My hair was behaving for once, but I was still glad I’d

braided it back tightly and drenched it with conditioner to keep the frizzles down. Not that it was

frizzing much lately, but habits die hard.

Bruce clasped his hands together. His face was set and white under his coloring, and it didn’t do

him a lot of good. His eyes were burning coals. “Milady.”

Outside the sun was shining, and the birds were chirping. But in here there was no daylight. I shifted my weight uncomfortably. Kept my hands in fists so I wasn’t tempted to touch my mother’s

locket. “What? I mean, what do you want?”

“I think this would go better if you sat down,” Hiro said gently. But I looked past him, and there

was a dent of darkness on the table’s mellow polished shine.

My heart crawled up in my throat. “God.” I sounded half-strangled. “No. Oh, no.”

I shoved between Hiro and Alton and grabbed the black thing. It was a long black canvas trench

coat. It would go all the way to my ankles, but it would hit him at midcalf. It smelled like cigarette

smoke and healthy young male loup-garou.

It was torn all to pieces. Another piece of it was in my bag right now. I’d fished it out of my other

jeans and stowed it carefully.

There was an envelope, too, heavy cream linen paper with a wax seal on it. The seal had already

been broken. “We wanted to make sure—” Hiro began.

I dropped the coat and snatched the envelope. Ripped it apart.

“When?” Christophe was right behind me. “Exactly when? After he disappeared? And where?”

Alton’s face was set and ashen. “We don’t know. A box was delivered a half-hour ago, containing

the coat and the envelope.”

One piece of that heavy expensive paper. Spidery but firm antique handwriting, good enough to be

called calligraphy. You could almost see a fountain pen scratching at the paper, its nib scraping

along like a busy little insect.

Since you have taken my Broken, I will break another.

“No.” My mouth kept saying it. “No. No.”

Christophe subtracted the letter from my nerveless fingers. Scanned it briefly. “Dear God.” He

didn’t sound horrified. Only . . . thoughtful.

I was horrified enough for both of us.

I picked up the coat again. It was torn, one sleeve almost severed, and there was drying mud

splashed all over it. Mud, and another darker fluid that had dried to a crust.

I didn’t want to think about it.

A scream was rising in my chest. I shoved it down as hard as I could. It didn’t want to go. Think,

Dru. Think.

I looked up, my fingers turned into claws in the ruin of the coat. Met Christophe’s steady, icy gaze.

“What are you going to do?”