“I’m sure it’s part of the plan,” Barabas said. “I would just like to be clued in on the plan. Just for the benefit of the overall strategy.”

That made two of us. “I’ll talk to Curran,” I said. “What about the creatures?”

“Nothing so far. Nobody has ever seen anything even remotely like this, or if they have, they’re not talking.”

Figured. “I need to meet with the three packs individually. Can you set this up for tomorrow?”

“Sure. To what purpose?”

“I’d like to howl in the dark.”

Barabas frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“It’s a wolf term. When you sense someone in the dark but you don’t know if he’s prey or a rival, you howl and see if he runs or answers. I’d like to howl at the packs and see if somebody snarls back.”

“I see. They will talk to us to avoid offending us and to remove suspicion from themselves, but they might not answer any questions and we can’t really compel them to do so.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

“Okay. I will let you know as soon as I find out more. And Kate?”

“Yes?”

“I have your back,” he said.

“Thank you.”

I left the balcony. Thinking about Lorelei pissed me off, but there was nothing to be done about it now. I would find Curran today and I would figure out what sort of demented plan he had cooked up. Until then, I had to concentrate on keeping Desandra alive.

Both Andrea and George had hunted and changed shape twice in less than six hours. They would be tired. Between the man in the cage and Lorelei, I, on the other hand, was fresh as a daisy. Anger—a better alternative to caffeine.

A shadow peeled itself from the wall and followed me. Derek, moving silently along the hall, like some lethal shadow on soft wolf paws.

“This whole stealthy walking-behind-me thing you’re doing is making me feel stalked. Why don’t you catch up?”

He trotted over. “Just trying to keep you safe.”

Et tu, Brute? “First, Barabas tells me he’s got my back and now you’re shadowing me. Do the two of you know something I don’t?”

Derek shrugged his shoulder. “I don’t like this place.”

“Neither do I. Did Doolittle look at the scale?”

“Yes. He wants to talk to you.”

I reversed my course. We stopped by Doolittle’s room. Inside, Eduardo and Keira were playing cards. The good doctor was reading a book by the window.

“How did it go with the scale?” I asked.

“As can be expected, given the lack of equipment.” Doolittle peered at me. “I’m not a miracle worker.”

“He’s stumped and it’s making him cranky,” Keira said.

Doolittle rolled his eyes. “The scale isn’t a scale in the traditional sense. It’s a scute.”