My phone dinged, and I stole a glance as I pushed through a set of double
doors. A text from Neve: Got Savannah’s drawing this morning, and I
tracked down what the demon is. Come to the Archives. You’re not going to
be happy.
Of that, I had no doubt. I checked the time—almost 11:30—and sent a
quick response: Meet you at noon. Let Savannah know.
Regina was waiting for me outside a curtained hospital room, along with
a doctor and Lily Duvoir, the curse diviner, who was dressed in a long
flowing blue skirt with stacks of bangles around her arms. I was surprised
she’d agreed to come. She rarely left her home in Dockside.
I tucked my phone away. “What’s our status?”
The doctor looked at his chart. “We have three of your werewolves here.
They’re in comas. We haven’t found a way to bring them around with magic
or modern medicine.”
I pushed aside the privacy curtain, revealing a young woman with short
black hair who was sleeping peacefully. My heart caught. “Shit, it’s Cara.”
Regina nodded.
Cara was a green recruit, but enthusiastic, and I’d believed in her enough
to put her on the team that I’d sent to hunt the rogue wolves in Wisconsin last
week. She was there when we stormed Billy’s cabin. Now she was comatose.
Had Kahanov picked his victims at random, or had he seen her up there
somehow and was seeking revenge?
I scrubbed a hand across my jaw and cursed. This was my responsibility.
Rage and frustration fought for control of my emotions, and my wolf
stirred. I dug my fingers into my palms and forced it back. I had to keep my
head clear.
“What are we dealing with here?” I growled, my voice teetering on the
edge of lupine.
The curse diviner stepped up beside me. “I’ve examined them all. It’s a
sleeping curse.”