Mahon approached, pulled up a chair, and sat next to me, his massive forearms leaning on his legs. His huge back stretched the black fabric of an oversized T-shirt, but despite barely fitting him in the shoulders, the shirt was a foot too long. The shapechangers had a fondness for sweats, and Mahon was wearing gray sweatpants and no socks. His hairy feet rested on the sun-warmed floor.

His brown eyes met my gaze. “The Pack appreciates your sacrifice.”

“There was no sacrifice. I’m alive.” And Curran is burned to charcoaly crispness.

He shook his head. “The sacrifice was intended and we’re grateful. You have earned the trust and friendship of the Pack. You may visit us when you wish. You may ask us for help in a time of need, and we’ll do our best to aid you. It’s no small thing, Kate.”

I probably should have said something formal and flowery, but Demerol kept tangling my thoughts. I patted his big hand and mumbled, “Thanks.”

Mahon’s eyes were warm. “You’re welcome.”

IT WAS FRIDAY AND I WAS WALKING. DRESSED IN matching gray sweats and sneakers that were too wide, both courtesy of the Pack, I conquered the hallway at a slow but persistent pace. I was dizzy and had to fight off the urge to spin right, which would have rammed my head into the wall.

Doolittle’s wizardry had doused the pain in my stomach, muting it to a dull ache that gnawed on me when I bent the wrong way. He promised minimal scarring on the abdomen and I believed him. My thigh wasn’t so lucky. The vamp had bitten off a chunk of flesh, and despite Doolittle’s efforts, I’d carry a reminder for the rest of my days. I didn’t care. I was grateful I had any days left.

The hallway opened into a wide room the size of a large gym. Assorted devices filled it, positioned with care on the stone floor, some born of technology, others of magic, and a few convoluted hybrids of both.

A wiry, medium-sized woman about my age sat on a padded square cot by the door. The cot resembled an oversized dog bed. The woman munched on saltine crackers. Probably a wererat. They ate constantly.

The woman glanced at me through a cascade of tiny dark braids. A wooden bead secured each braid.

“Yeah?” she said.

Friendly.

“I have an appointment,” I told her.

“So?” she said.

I shrugged and walked past her. She didn’t stop me.

The tank sat near the left wall, half-hidden by a large slab of stone on which someone had written cabalistic symbols in chalk. The symbols looked to be bullshit: a misshapen veve that should have been drawn in red; two Egyptian symbols, one for Nile and the other for Canopus; and something vaguely resembling the Japanese symbol for dragon.