I’m a fool.

Three nights later, I was back in Highgate Wood, hiding in the edge of the trees, staring out at the same pond where I’d drowned my mobile phone and with it, my link to Crookshollow. Previously, Caleb had been calling me every few days with updates. He was tired of waiting and plotting. He wanted to move. Caleb’s agitation practically vibrated down the phone, mirroring my own.

Now, after three days of no word, no instructions, no updates on what was going on, my agitation was starting to slide over into a full-blown breakdown. That was why I was here, to get answers.

The moon shone cold light through the trees, reflecting off the smooth surface of the pond. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm went off, reminding me that I wasn’t in some remote forest, but in the middle of an enormous city that was hostile to my kind.

Willow. I have to find Willow. I have to know she’s safe.

I hadn’t contacted her since I arrived in London. I didn’t want to speak to her, but my love for her still burned in my veins. At least when I’d been talking to Caleb, he’d been able to give me updates, because he was watching her and waiting to see her pass information to her mother’s people. At least when I had my phone, I still had the possibility of contacting her at a moment’s notice, but now, I had nothing, and it was driving me crazy.

I had no idea how I’d managed to survive for a month without breaking down and calling her. Every time I passed by a red phone booth, the urge to pick up the receiver and dial her number stopped me in my tracks. But I resisted.

I’m doing this for you, Willow, so that you can get your justice. Why cannae you see that?

Caleb’s words echoed in my head. Don’t get distracted. Remember why you’re doing this.

I tried. I tried so hard. I no longer saw my father’s dead eyes when I thought about the plan. Instead, Willow’s face burned in my vision – stuck in the moment of one of her rare smiles. I thought of the tears that sprung in her eyes whenever she felt nervous, the way she called herself “broken” in that deadpan voice, as though she was reciting her shopping list. Because she believed it. Because the humans in her life had made her believe it.

If I could just show her what shifter freedom could mean for her life, then maybe she’d forgive me, maybe she’d understand.

Willow needed to bring her father to justice for what he’d done to her. It was the only way she’d be able to see herself as whole, as the beautiful, amazing creature that I loved with every fibre of my wolfish being. If she got that closure, then she’d be able to fade away into the background of the world. People would stop focusing on her, and she’d be free to live her life the way she wanted.

And that was why I was here in Hyde Park, about to visit someone I hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

In the distance, Big Ben chimed. Midnight. Time to meet my contact. I slipped back, hiding myself in the foliage. Even though it would be unlikely anyone would enter the dark trees this late at night, I kept my body low, ducking and weaving to avoid the paths of the few drunken teenagers who were making out on the edges of the miniature wood.

It took me only a few moments to locate the tree. It looks identical to every other tree, only its smell gave it away. I sniffed around the base, searching for a hiding place, but could find none. Where are you? We had an agreement—

Hey, wolfie. Up here!

The high-pitched voice squeaked inside my head. Relieved, I glanced up. Sitting on a branch high above my head, a small squirrel stood with its tiny hands on its hips.

You’re late.

Don’t blame me, Chip. It took twenty bloody minutes to get across town, and then I had to find somewhere to stash my clothes. Why cannae we meet in a pub like normal people?

The squirrel shook its tiny head. I don’t do humans, and neither should you. They’re a waste of perfectly good oxygen, if you ask me. If they didn’t make such delicious roasted nuts, I wouldn’t bother with them at all. Speaking of which, did you bring payment?

I lifted my paw, shaking off the tiny leather pouch. It hit the ground and the drawstring popped open, spilling a huge handful of honey-roasted cashew nuts across the fallen leaves.

The squirrel leapt down and gathered up the nuts in his arms, dragging as many as he could hold back up the trunk again and stashing them in a hollow.

I accept your payment, he said, collapsing in the crook of a branch and nibbling on a cashew nut. Now, what is it you want to know?

There’s a wolf. I dinnae ken his name, but he used to live in London twenty years ago, and he was married to a lady named Helen Winters. He attacked his own daughter. Do you ken him?

That’s not much to go on.

I ken. So can you help me?

The squirrel nodded. Lucky for you, I remember the story well. You’re talking about Richard Carson. He’s a mutt.

A mutt. That was news to me. Mutts were shifters who had some kind of genetic defect, usually from a human woman without the shifter genes giving birth to a shifter’s baby. A mutt had poor control over their shift or instincts, so they were often unstable and had difficulty functioning in the real world. Ryan and his twin brother Marcus were both mutts, but for some reason Ryan didn’t exhibit many of the common traits. Genetics were freaky like that.

If Willow’s father was a mutt, then that might explain everything.

I bet that’s him. What can you tell me about him?

Not much. His mother abandoned him when he was born, and I don’t know anything about how he survived, but he wasn’t a member of any of the known London packs. He married this Helen woman – I think they were even fated mates – but it wasn’t a happy relationship. They were both deep into a bad scene. Richard was a low-level street dealer, and they were high as a kite most of the time, even with that kid in tow. As far as I know from the stories I’ve heard, he was so fucked on the drugs that he didn’t realise it was the full moon, and he was still inside when the change came over him. The daughter was the first thing he saw.

Shite. It really was as Willow had said. This guy was a complete lowlife. His ex-wife owns the Werewolf Watch website.

The squirrel tossed the macadamia shell away, and started on a peanut. I don’t do websites. All I know is that the last time he was heard of, he was living in the London sewers with the other mutts. He’s probably dead in a pile of his own filth by now.

Mutts live in the sewers?

Of course. The squirrel glared at me as he selected another cashew. They’ve got to go somewhere. At least they’re down in the shit, where they should be.

How do I get down there?

There’s a manhole at the edge of the trees, where the park meets Lanchester Road. You can get there without even needing to shift back, if you’re careful.

And what do I—

The squirrel waved a paw in the air, cutting me off. That’s all the answers you’ll get out of me until you bring more nuts.

I glared at him. For a squirrel, you’re a real capitalist.

He stuffed two nuts into his cheeks, and poked his tongue out at me.

I turned and headed in the direction he indicated, keeping as far from the edge of the wood as I dared. On Lanchester Road, I found the manhole he was after. Even better, a crew from the council were there doing some work, and they had the cover open. I waited in the trees for them to stop for a tea break, then bolted from the trees and leapt over the barrier.

This is for you, Willow, I thought, as I aimed my body at the hole and fell down into oblivion.