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demon, rendering Pryce catatonic until Myrddin stole four people’s life forces—then added his own—to bring him back. Pryce was walking and talking, out there somewhere, but without his shadow demon. Why couldn’t the book show me something useful, like where he was now or what he was planning?
    I picked up the book and dropped it in the trash. I stood over it for a full minute, admiring the way it looked there—so natural, so
right
. Then, with a sigh, I took it out again. The book seemed to quiver with indignation as I lifted itfrom the trash can and stashed it at the back of a cupboard. Mab said it was important for me to keep working with the book, so I would. But otherwise, I didn’t have to look at it. As I shut the cupboard door, the kitchen light brightened.
    I’d report my experience to Mab the next time we spoke. (Well, maybe I’d leave out the part about spilling chocolate ice cream on the book. No harm done, no need to tell her, right?) But this was the third time in a week the book had rehashed recent events—although the most dramatic in its presentation. The previous two times, Mab had simply said, “Keep trying, child.” I was sure she’d say it this time, too. In fact, she wouldn’t be happy that I’d hidden the book away. I sighed again as I retrieved the book from the cupboard and returned it to the table. Face down. I knew I’d have to go back to it, but I was done with the book for tonight.
    Now what? I cracked open the kitchen door. Voices came from the living room, a trill of Juliet’s laughter. Huh. Maybe she and Marvin were hitting it off. Not that I wanted to join their party. I got myself a glass of water and wandered back to the kitchen table. Still not ready to think about Simone. Instead, I flipped the pages of a two-day-old copy of
News of the Dead
, Deadtown’s cheesy tabloid. Even the monsters need a good gossip rag.
    Not thinking about Simone.
Flip.
How dare she put her hand on Kane’s leg?
Flip.
And on television, for all of Boston to see.
Flip.
It was like she was staking her claim to him.
Flip.
Not thinking about Simone.
Flip.
Was I remembering wrong, or had he caught her eye and smiled once? The page ripped in my hand.
    I stared at the torn piece, part of a full-page ad for designer coffins for any décor. I didn’t remember seeing it, didn’t remember seeing any of the previous pages. My eyes had skimmed over half the paper without taking in a word. I pushed
News of the Dead
aside.
    No use making myself crazy over Simone. Just because she wanted Kane didn’t mean
he
wanted
her
. We were all adults. I’d reserve judgment until I could talk to him. And then I’d yank a big handful of that gleaming chestnut hair right out of Simone’s scalp.
    Now, there was a picture I could get behind.
    I sipped some water and turned my thoughts to tonight’s Harpy attack. Harpies don’t attack at random. They’re conjured to go after a specific target—usually to torment, but this one was going for the kill. Who’d sent it after me?
    Simone? Would she pay a sorcerer to get rid of the competition? I didn’t think so. Most werewolves preferred a more direct approach. They relished confrontation. Sneaking around and dealing with sorcerers wouldn’t occur to a werewolf. Okay, so I had Simone on the brain. And I was looking for the slightest excuse to make that hair-ripping picture a reality. But I didn’t believe she’d sent the Harpy.
    No, if I were betting on who was behind the attack, I’d put all my cash on Pryce.
    Pryce had lost his shadow demon, but he knew how to conjure Harpies better than any sorcerer. And he’d already tried so many times to kill me that he could list “attempted murder” under Hobbies on his résumé.
    In the weeks since Myrddin revived him, Pryce had beenquiet, in hiding. But maybe he was active again. Maybe that’s why the book kept showing me recent events. Not for my benefit, of course, but to taunt me, to remind me that my nemesis—the