Mayor Van Sloane exhaled a long, weary breath. “Enough. Mr. Deacon, I can see that you cannot control your niece. It makes me question your motives in coming here. You could have a half dozen of your people in the forest blowing whistles and pretending that there is a threat. So, let’s cut the nonsense and get right to it.” She snapped her fingers and every single one of the armed men and women circling the Pack raised their weapons. “I want your people to drop their weapons. Do it carefully and slowly and be smart about it. Put all of your supplies in a pile. Everything.”

Dahlia sighed. “You were right about everything,” she said to Church.

Again, he spoke to Van Sloane. “The Rovers are coming whether you believe it or not. Given that, it would be encouraging to know if your guards and sentries are any good at their jobs.”

Van Sloane took a step closer to him, smiling like the Florida alligators Dahlia had seen when her family was on vacation. A lot of teeth and no trace of warmth or mercy.

“Oh, my people are good,” she said. “It would have been better for you and your niece if you hadn’t pushed this.”

“Yes,” said Church, “everything could have been easier.”

The whistles blew closer and louder. Church sighed and raised his hand. Van Sloane looked at it. The guards looked at it. He snapped his fingers.

The arrow was a gray blur that struck hard into the dirt in the narrow space between Church and the mayor. It hit so hard that it quivered and thrummed.

Suddenly there were people everywhere, coming out from between houses and rising up from behind hedges. Dahlia grinned as the Pack raised their weapons—guns and crossbows and compound bows and slingshots. For all his size, Slow Dog moved like greased lighting and tore a rifle out of a guard’s hands, reversed it in his grip and shoved the barrel up under the man’s chin, lifting him to his toes. Jumper took away a handgun and a hatchet with a balletic spin that was so smooth it looked choreographed. He pointed the gun at Van Sloane. Neeko and another scout seemed to come out of nowhere, taking the guns deftly away from the guards who’d been checking on the “helpers.” All at once the people surrounding the Pack were themselves surrounded. The sound of hammers being cocked back and shotguns being racked crackled through the air. Dahlia’s kukri knife flashed silver and the blade came to a sudden stop a millimeter from Margaret Van Sloane’s throat.