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standing in the snow, glaring at me, and the next he had hunkered down to peer into the shadows of the evergreens planted there. I could see only the swish of his tail.
    I wondered whether he’d done some disgusting cat thing and brought me a “present” of a bird with its head bitten off. I had not come out in the night for that kind of token of his so-called esteem.
    On the other hand, I was up, so I might as well look. I bent and pushed the greenery aside.
    Mozart was lying in the snow. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even rapidly rotating between forms, which is a sign of distress in a shifter. He’s a soot-colored cat with a white bib and white socks. He was terrifyingly still.
    “Is he dead?” I asked, wondering what had happened to him.
    King narrowed his eyes, and then I noticed the faint whisper of Mozart’s breath.
    The subtle beat of his heart.
    He wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t exactly in the prime of health, either. I crouched down beside King and touched Mozart’s fur. His body wasn’t as warm as usual, but the feel of his heart beating beneath his ribs made me feel better.
    I looked at King. “You brought him here.” He bowed his head regally. “But you couldn’t bring him into the house without my help.” King crouched down beside his friend’s body, as if standing guard over it. It must have been terrifying to leave him alone, even for a few minutes.
    No wonder he’d been so agitated.
    “But what happened to him?” I still was thinking that this was some kind of cat-related injury. Cat shifters are more savvy about navigating the human world than regular cats, but still, their form has its risks.
    King gave me an intent look, as if I was missing something really obvious. Then he batted at the snow beside Mozart with one paw, indicating something. At his gesture, I did see it. The porch light shone on Mozart, casting his shadow across the white snow.
    But his shadow was wrong.
    There was a bite out of it.
    This was not the most encouraging sign possible. I looked around for spell light or apprentice Mages or even ShadowEaters but couldn’t see anything.
    King was watching me closely, so I tried to hide that I was freaking. I didn’t know what we could do to help Mozart or fix his shadow, but him lying wounded in the snow on a winter night—when his attacker could still be at large—couldn’t be the right answer.
    I scooped Mozart up into my arms and headed for the doorway, casting a glance at the night sky. I couldn’t see any ShadowEaters, which had to be better than the alternative. King was right against my legs, slipping into the house when I opened the door. His eyes shone as he watched me lock the door; then he followed me to the bedroom on silent feet.
    Mozart remained limp.
    But alive.
    I realized then that we had never learned his real name, that he just responded to the name Meagan had given his cat form, as if he were a cat. I knew so little about either of these cat shifters. They were mysterious to me, and maybe they liked it that way. Maybe they stayed in cat form to avoid discussion. To keep their secrets.
    I had a feeling we’d have to find out more to help Mozart recover.
    And one look at King told me they weren’t going to like that.
    M EAGAN WAS AWAKE WHEN WE
got back to her room and her eyes widened at the sight of Mozart. I shut the door behind us so her parents wouldn’t hear that we were talking.She nearly tripped over the hem of her nightgown coming to get him from me.
    “What happened?” She cuddled him close.
    “I don’t know. King woke me up and took me to him.” I turned on the light beside her bed, trying to sound calm. In charge. Competent even. “There’s something wrong with his shadow.”
    Meagan gasped. “Mages! But how?” She sat down hard and chewed her lip as she cradled Mozart. “Or it could be apprentice Mages. But why now?”
    I had to love having the brilliant student on my side. I told Meagan all about my dream as we tucked Mozart