We’d gotten to the corner by then, and we had to turn right on Main and go north a couple of blocks to turn onto St. Francis. While we waited for traffic to pass—amazingly, some people were actually trying to go about their everyday routine—I saw someone running toward us out of the corner of my eye. I twisted to see Togo looking out at the traffic, and he met my eyes briefly before he was broadsided by a short, heavy man swinging his sign at Togo’s head. Togo bled and staggered and went down on one knee.

“Quinn!” I yelled, and Quinn turned to see what was happening. He bounded over the hood of the truck with a leap that was truly astounding, and he plucked Togo’s attacker off the ground and held him there.

The crowd was shocked, and some of them stared, stunned by Quinn’s speed and strength. Then they became enraged because this difference was exactly what they feared. I glimpsed more swift movement, Sam yelled, and I saw a tall woman, brown hair flying behind her like a banner, loping across Main at an inhuman rate. She looked normal in her jeans and sneakers, but she was definitely more than human. She went right to the knot of Togo, Quinn, and the protester. She seized the man from Quinn’s grip and carried him over to the side of the street. With elaborate care, she placed him on his feet, and then she did an amazing thing. She patted him on the head with one long brown hand.

There was a scattering of laughter from the crowd. The man literally had his mouth hanging open.

She turned to Quinn and Togo, who’d lurched to his feet, and she grinned.

Togo’s shoulders relaxed as he realized the crisis had passed—for the moment. But Quinn seemed frozen, and then . . . so did she.

He bowed his head slightly to her. I couldn’t hear what he said, but she bobbed her head at him in return, and she said one word. And though I couldn’t really hear her, somehow I knew what it was: “tigress.”

Whoa. I wished like hell I had time to think about that, but the road cleared in both directions and it was time to turn. I rolled down the window to let the people on foot know what we were planning, and then we moved out, the shifters running easily beside our little motorcade. We drove only a short distance before the left turn. Just two more blocks west to the church.

If Bernie’s street had been crowded and frightening, St. Francis was even more crowded, and emotions were jacked up accordingly.

Sam was concentrating so hard on driving while watching the crowd for any sudden moves that I didn’t dare talk to him. I crouched in my seat, every muscle twanging with tension.