“Yes. Normal human teeth. I had a chat with her. We didn’t get anywhere. So we put her in a cell and called down to the psychiatric unit in the city to come and evaluate her. She was in that cell for about an hour. When Connie went to do her rounds, she found the cell door open and the old lady was gone.”

Better and better. “Nobody saw her leave?”

Beau shook his head. “And the cameras weren’t running, since the magic was up. A group of kids walking home from school saw her take off for the woods. We tried to follow her with bloodhounds, but the dogs refused to track. She’s been gone about ten hours. Since you have not one but two members of the Pack at your disposal, here’s the deal. You track down Jene Boudreaux, and I’ll let you examine the evidence you need.”

Even if the evidence was crap, I still owed Beau. “I’ll take that deal, but I want to see her house. I’d like to know what I’m walking into.”

“Fine by me.” Beau raised his voice. “Robby!”

A lanky blond deputy materialized in the doorway.

“This is Robert Holland,” Beau said. “Robert will go with you and provide assistance and legal authority.”

“Folks,” Holland nodded at us.

“Mrs. Boudreaux has been a part of our community for all of her life,” Beau said. “Her husband drove my sons to school in his armored bus when he was alive. She is known to people. I want it to be understood that even if Mrs. Boudreaux isn’t herself, Deputy Holland is the one who gives the all clear. If violence is inevitable, it must be authorized by one of us.”

Fine by me.

•   •   •

JENE BOUDREAUX LIVED in a small older house typical of the pre-Shift Georgia suburbs: one story, about twelve hundred square feet, a wooden fence and an abundance of plants and hedges up front. The plants had seen better days and the hedges were blocking the windows.

Twenty feet from the house, Derek and Ascanio stopped in unison.

“Odd smell?” I guessed.

“Mm-hm.” Derek inhaled and grimaced. “Smells like hot iron.”

A few feet from the door I smelled it too, a thick, sharp odor. It didn’t smell like anything in particular; it was its own ugly scent that cut across my senses like a knife. Something bad lived here.

Robert Holland put the key into the lock and opened the door. “We confiscated the keys when we arrested her.”

“Did you get to see her at all during any of this?”

He shook his head. “Shannon made the arrest. I do know her. My mother used to run a crafting club, where the older ladies would gather together, socialize, and knit or quilt.”

The knitting circle. More and more of those were springing up, as machine-knit clothes became harder to come by.