Finally the magic squeezed the Jeep, compacting us inside it, as if some unseen force somehow moved our atoms closer together. The pressure vanished and the ley line spat us out onto solid ground. I opened my eyes. “Where are we?”

“Cumberland.” Curran was looking at something ahead.

Northwest end of the city. We were home.

I raised my head and looked in the direction Curran was looking. Barabas stood on the sidewalk.

“How did he know we were coming?”

“He didn’t,” Curran said.

We got out of the car and Barabas trotted to us. “I’m so glad you’re alive!”

“We’re glad, too,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“The People notified us that you would be coming in at this ley point. Actually they gave us the exact time you would arrive, which is odd.”

Not odd at all. Apparently my father had us watched.

“The People want to have a Conclave meeting tonight, and they requested the presence of both of you and the Pack Council. They said they want to bury the hatchet. It’s in two hours.”

“Tell them no,” Curran said.

“I tried,” Barabas said. “They said, quote, ‘Sharrim’s presence is requested.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

Curran swore.

“I’ve sent our guys to sweep the location and establish our presence,” Barabas said. “They’re reporting that the People are already in place. The Pack Council is on standby. Do you want me to cancel?”

“If we don’t go, it will make things worse,” I said. “Roland’s giving us the time and place. If we ignore him, he can hit us at the Keep, and the loss of life will be greater.”

Curran put his arm around me. “It’s your call.”

I was as ready as I was going to be for now. Another few days or even a few more weeks wouldn’t make a difference. I would’ve taken a century or two if it was offered, but it wasn’t on the table. “Screw it. I’m tired of waiting. Let’s get it over with.”

Curran looked at Barabas. “Call the Council. The Pack will make a stand.”

18

THE RUINED CITY slid by outside the Jeep. Atlanta. Ugly and beautiful, decaying and rising, life and death at the same time. Home. For better or worse, home. The sun was just beginning to set and the sky burned with a riot of orange and red. Curran drove, his face somber.

“This isn’t the way to Bernard’s.”

“The Conclave isn’t being held at Bernard’s,” Barabas said from the backseat. “We’re going to Lakeside.”

“What’s Lakeside?” I asked.

“It’s a new development where North Atlanta High School used to be.”

“The one that was overrun by boars with steel quills?” I remembered that. Took the city two years to boar-proof the area.

“Yes. Supposedly it’s been constructed by the same firm that made Champion Heights.”