Doolittle finished chanting. A welcome, soothing coolness spread through my side. “Good as new.”

“Thank you, Doc.”

The edges of the wounds had stuck together. Without Doolittle, I would’ve needed stitches.

“Wings?” Doolittle asked.

“Wings.”

“Feathered?”

“Sort of,” Andrea told him. “The feathers weren’t fully formed. Each was like a simple filament with a little bit of fuzz on it.”

Doolittle frowned. “The scales, you see, they would add weight . . .”

“It doesn’t make sense,” I told him. “I know. But this is what I killed.”

“Just because it has wings doesn’t mean it can fly,” Mahon said. “They can be vestigial.”

“They definitely didn’t look right,” I said.

Doolittle nodded. “I’ll test the head.”

Mahon glanced at Curran. “I spoke to the Volkodavi and Belve Ravennati at dinner. Both are convinced Jarek wants to kill his daughter. When he originally promised the pass, it was one of the four ways through the mountains. They’ve had some natural disasters since then. Now it’s one of two. He’ll do anything to hold on to it.”

“Too obvious for Jarek,” Barabas countered. “I studied him and he likes to pin the blame on someone else. He would’ve used a lynx or a wolf, so he could finger one of the other packs. Two birds with one stone. Instead they used something nobody has ever seen before.”

“The question is why?” Keira said. “Jarek is still the only one with the obvious motive. If Desandra dies, he doesn’t have to give up the pass.”

“If she dies, he can kiss his shot at grandkids good-bye,” Barabas said.

“The other two packs hate him,” Mahon said. “If Desandra gives birth, they won’t let him have the children. He may value retaining the pass more.”

“Enough,” Curran said.

They fell silent.

“We’re on full alert,” he said. “Move in groups. Lock your doors. Nobody goes or stays anywhere alone. You have to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, you wake everyone up and you go together.”

“We need to have a meeting in the morning,” I told them. “We need to set the guard shifts and work out a schedule. Let’s meet at Doolittle’s room at eight.”

“Nine.” Curran said. “Now she needs rest.”

People filed out of the room. He barred it and crouched by me. “Shower?”

“Please.”

He disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water was like a whisper of heaven. I was suddenly so tired. I dragged myself to my feet and into the bathroom. A shower waited for me, a tiled stall, half-hidden by a purple curtain on a curved rod. Steam rose from the tile. I tugged on the zipper of my dress. Stuck.

Curran reached over. His careful hands touched my shoulders. The sound of ripping fabric screeched and the shreds of the dress fluttered down.

“Thank you.”