“But not one for immediate concern.” Simon studied the list. “Wolves being attacked with knives? Not a smart thing for a human to do, especially if there is more than one Wolf.”

“Rifle card was already used,” Henry said. “Maybe Meg needed another human weapon. Rifle or knife, the result is the same. She saw death.”

Simon looked at the last set of words and shivered. How much human will the terra indigene keep? He remembered the words the Elders had spoken, but it was Vlad who pointed to the list and said, “It looks like we’ve run out of time.”

“We were out of time when the humans disregarded the significance of the Elders declaring a breach of trust and decided to cause more trouble,” Henry rumbled.

“How did Meg know that card was supposed to be a terra indigene form?” Simon asked.

“Jester knew,” Henry replied.

Which meant at some point in his life, the Coyote had actually seen one or more of the terra indigene who were Namid’s teeth and claws.

“He separated the forms from the make-believe creatures and told Meg she shouldn’t send that deck to other blood prophets,” Henry continued. “The Jesse Walker already has that deck, but only Meg knows that not all the images are make-believe.”

Simon handed the sheet of paper to Henry. “We don’t know when it will happen.”

Henry folded the paper until it fit in the back pocket of his jeans. “Meg will receive a phone call, and that will be the battle cry. At least for us.”

Simon felt grief already clogging his throat. “Some of us are going to die. If the Elders have made their decision, why are they going to hold back until some of us die?”

“I don’t think shifters like us are that important to the Elders,” Henry replied. “But even if we do matter to them, maybe they have to wait for something to be set in motion before they act, even if waiting means watching some of us die.”

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 30

Firesday, Juin 22

Hope dropped the gray crayon, horrified by the drawing. She leaped up then half fell on the bed when her feet, asleep from being tucked under her for so long, couldn’t hold her. She felt warm liquid run down her legs, barely understanding that she’d wet herself.

Shaking, sobbing, too scared to call for help—too scared that no one would answer—she forced herself to look at the drawing again.

More than death. A horror that would never be forgotten.

She looked closer. She didn’t know that face. He didn’t live in Sweetwater. Had she drawn that face before? She couldn’t remember.

Fear grew inside her, its sharp edges slicing through her ability to think.

Had to find Jackson and Grace. Had to run, escape, hide. Had to tell...

A face in the corner of the paper, apart from the rest of the drawing.

...the Trailblazer.