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Gaudins at the bayou. He knew it was time for us to intervene.”
    She swallowed hard, wondering if they had seen her with the gun that shot silver bullets. Watched her leap into a bayou filled with silver to save Doug, Cordelia’s brother-in-law, married to her older sister Regan.
    “You have to stop the feuding. Now. Or we will destroy you.” Magus looked over at Katelyn. “Don’t think we can’t. Ask the older werewolves about the Manarro family.” He smiled grimly. “We wiped them out.”
    “How?”
    He drew himself up and straightened his shoulders. “We made an earthquake.”
    “No, really,” she said.
    He gave her a look, then returned his attention to the road. A flash of lightning heralded a downpour. He put on the windshield wipers.
    “What I lost was your safe passage, should you have decided to come to us,” he said. “Maybe that’s a divine sign that you should come with me now.”
    “Come with you,” she repeated nervously.
    “To where we are staying while we sort out this mess.”
    “Come with you because . . .?”
    He moved his shoulders. “I have to tell you that my report to Daniel, my leader, won’t be favorable. We don’t believe the Fenners and the Gaudins will be able to make peace. They’re savages, all of them. We predict that in the end, for the good of the world, we’ll have to kill them all.”
    “That’s not for you to decide,” she insisted. But his answering look told her that he would never accept that. “Some of them are good.” Like Doug, who had tried to look out for Katelyn, and had died a hideous death for his trouble. Or Justin’s big brother Jesse, who had Down’s syndrome, a sunny, sweet guy.
    Except that Jesse keeps talking about breaking necks , she reminded herself.
    “They’re not good enough ,” he replied. He cocked his head, appraising her. “But I think that perhaps you’re worth saving. Come with me now and prove it.”
    “I have to go home,” she said. But Wolf Springs wasn’t home. Los Angeles was. “I have to make sure that my family’s all right.”
    “Your pack,” he said dismissively.
    “My grandfather. And someone else.”
    Trick.
    A funny look crossed his face. She scowled at him.
    “Stop trying to be all mysterious. What is up with you, anyway? You dress like a Renaissance Fair refugee and you’re wearing Old Spice. I’m betting you don’t have a day job unless it’s being in a motorcycle gang.”
    He jerked in shock. Emboldened, she was about to lob more insults at him when his expression turned steely and he swerved to the side of the road and stopped.
    “This isn’t a game,” he said. “I killed a werewolf back there. It’s not my first. And it won’t be my last.”
    She realized she was cowering against the door and forced herself to sit up straight. But when she tried to glare back at him, she broke into a cold sweat. Her stomach clenched and her face prickled. And she had to avert her gaze.
    “So we understand each other a little better,” he said with grim satisfaction.
    “I don’t understand at all.”
    “If you join forces with us, you’ll understand everything,” he said. She sucked in her breath as he held up his forefinger. “But only if.”
    Then he focused his attention back on the road, leaving her to sit in queasy silence. She thought of a thousand things to say and instead, pulled her phone back out. Instead of listening to the voice message from Los Angeles, she put her phone on mute and pulled up a video of Trick. He had been filming a play, Dark of the Moon , and in it he played a witch boy who falls in love with a human girl. Trick had translated it into Russian, which he spoke fluently, and in the video, he wore nothing but a pair of black footless tights and had feathers woven into his dark, curly hair. A spotlight was shining on his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the warm brown color of his skin. His hair was pulled back from his forehead, accentuating his