“Not dead?” said Nat in alarm. “Of course he’s not dead!”

Crescent eyed him coolly, her lip curled slightly, revealing white teeth.

“You need to get some help,” she replied. “This is too much responsibility for a kid your age.”

Nat began to feel some of his admiration evaporate. Pretty or not, just who did this girl think she was?

The girl’s expression softened momentarily. “Look, I’m sorry. I assumed you had been to see Iona. I thought you must know what was happening.”

Nat was fed up with not knowing what was going on, although the name Iona did ring a distant bell.

“Who?” he asked sulkily.

“Iona de Gourney. She’s Wiccan.”

“What, like Welsh?” asked Nat, puzzled.

“No,” snapped Crescent. “Like Witch.”

Nat closed his eyes. He felt the real world slipping away again.

Woody took charge for the first time. “Why d’you say I should be trav … traveling with you?” he asked.

“Because you need to leave this town.” Crescent sighed, as if explaining something to a very elderly deaf person. “Before they find out that Tate didn’t shoot you.”

“Who are ‘they’?” asked Nat.

“The government, of course.”

“Oh,” said Nat, relieved. “That’s not so bad. Woody made it sound as though he was being hunted by Very Bad People.”

“He is!” spat Crescent.

“But you said …” Nat was confused.

Crescent’s prickly expression evened out again. “Look, we just got a message to come and play here and pick up a brother so that he could travel safely with us when we tour Eastern Europe.”

“How did you know I’m Wolven?” asked Woody.

“Duh!” said Crescent rudely. “Look at the state of your eyebrow. And your dress sense!” Then she smiled. “I lead a normal enough life most of the time.” She put her fingers up to her vivid green eyes and deftly extricated colored contact lenses, which, once removed, showed the real color underneath. They were a perfect, jack-o’-lantern orange. Nat gasped, the hair pricking on his arms. The same color as the creature in his nightmare! And her eyebrows seemed to be knitting into one, too.

Woody’s jaw dropped. “Are you … Wolven?”

Crescent laughed and shook her red hair. “Don’t you know anything? I’m just a common old werewolf. But you’re one of the King’s Wolven. You know: fearless, telepathic warriors and all that. I’m talking to a living legend.”

“How do you control your changes?” asked Nat, not understanding any of this but still trying to hold on to something useful in the strange conversation. “Because Woody doesn’t seem to know when it’s going to happen.”