“We crossed half the planet and you found a bakery.”

“I don’t see the humor in that.”

Keira laughed under her breath.

“You’re supposed to look menacing,” Aunt B told her. “You’re Eduardo’s stand-in.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Less laughing, more looming.”

Keira crossed her arms and pretended to scowl.

“We should’ve brought the werebuffalo,” Aunt B said.

We walked into the café. An older woman with gray hair smiled at us from behind the long counter and called out in a lilting language. Aunt B pointed to some things, money was exchanged, and suddenly we were sitting at a table with some pastries filled with apricots. We had been sitting still for about fifteen minutes when the kid walked through the door. He carried a rifle. A backpack hung off his shoulder. He saw Aunt B and Keira and halted.

“You have friends.”

“Yes.”

“It’s okay. Did you bring the money?”

“We did,” Aunt B assured him.

“Are you ready?” Volodja asked.

“Ready if you are,” Aunt B said.

* * *

The steep trail curved south, away from the castle. Blackberry bushes flanked the path, stretching thorny branches across the gravel and dirt. Our guide hadn’t said a word since we left the city behind about an hour ago. I did my best to turn my brain off and concentrate on memorizing the way back. Thinking about anything inevitably led back to Curran. I wanted to stab something. Failing that, I wanted to pace around. None of that would be helpful. Emotional raging just tired you out.

“How do you know where the orange shapeshifters nest?” I asked. Any distraction in a pinch . . .

“I’ve seen them.” Volodja shrugged, adjusting the rifle on his shoulder. “It’s not far now.”

I couldn’t wait to find out who pulled his strings.

“Come on, dear,” Aunt B said. “Where is your spirit of adventure?”

Midway up the trail, the magic wave drowned us. We paused, adjusting, and moved on.

One hour later the trail brought us up onto the crest of the mountain. Straight ahead the sea sparkled. Behind us, low in the valley, lay the city. A tall cliff rose to the left and within it gaped a dark hole.

“Cave,” Volodja explained. “We go in.”

“You first.”

Volodja took a step forward. The bushes on our right rustled. A dark-haired man stepped in the open. Around thirty, with a short beard, he carried a rifle and a dagger and wore a beat-up version of a djigit outfit. A bundle lay across his shoulder with mountain goat legs sticking out of it. A big gray-and-white dog trotted out and sat next to him. Broad and muscular, she had a dense shaggy coat. She might have been some type of Molosser—she looked like someone took a Saint Bernard and gave it a German shepherd’s muzzle and coat.

The hunter squinted at Volodja and said something. The kid answered.