Crescent gave him a quick smile. “Practice and patience,” she said smugly. “Forget all the stuff you hear about shape-shifting rules — although I admit it is harder to resist the urge when the moon is full. You really need to speak with the lady Iona, she knows far more than …” She was interrupted by someone calling her name urgently.

“Gotta go; we’re back on. Here, take this.” She pressed a piece of paper into Woody’s palm and squeezed his hand between both of hers.

“The lady who? What lady?” asked Nat, still confused.

Crescent grinned. “You’ll find out if you go to see her.” Then her face became serious again. “We leave next week, after Priddy Fair. If you want to come, I’ll meet you at noon at Temple Cross, and you, too.” She shot a friendlier look at Nat. “How about it? Want to tour with the best band in Europe?” She blew them both a kiss and, with a whirl of her sequined skirt, she retreated down the dark alley of trucks back to the stage.

Nat and Woody stared at each other. Crescent’s information had baffled them even more. One of the King’s Wolven? What did she mean? And what’s more, Nat noticed that Woody had a soppy lovelorn expression on his face as he watched the rest of the Howlers’ set.

When the band had left the stage, Nat glanced at the paper Crescent had given Woody. Iona de Gourney. He’d read that name before. Of course! The card from the library. He’d forgotten all about it. He rummaged in the pockets of his jeans and triumphantly pulled out the card, now crumpled and dirty:

That was today. Nat looked at his bare arm, forgetting his watch was no longer there. He strained his head to read the time on the watch of the man next to him. Seven-thirty. They’d easily make it to Meade Lodge in time. What a piece of luck they’d met Crescent! Nat shivered. Was it luck, though? Jude would call it Providence, like something was meant to be for the best. Whatever it was, it could unlock the mystery of Woody’s past — and any chance he had for a future.

CHAPTER 10
MEADE LODGE

The woods, ancient and impenetrable, formed a semicircle of protection around the towns of Temple Gurney and Temple Cross, like the hug of a green-limbed giant. Local guidebooks warned against penetrating the outer rim of the woods to reach its core, unless armed with a machete. What they didn’t actually say was that the machete might come in handy to deal with what you might meet inside.