“Run,” Nick said.

Everyone else seemed frozen in place. “Mother of God, what is it?” Conrad backed up slowly from the Wraith. The figure advanced implacably, fog swirling around it, and fear crackled along Nick’s nerves.

“Run!” he barked. Letting go of the girl’s hand, he shoved her behind him. “Take the young ones, get to the meeting point, and get the hell out of here! Go! Go!”

Rachel didn’t waste time arguing. She grabbed both the young ferals and sprinted up Sixth Avenue, vanishing into the thick fog. Conrad and the third adult, a puma, hesitated. Conrad’s yellow eyes darted to Nick. “What—”

“It killed Wyatt, and Luther.” Nick strode past them, toward the Wraith. He had to draw its attention, keep it away from the others until they could escape to safety. “I said run!”

They bolted, the heavy fog muffling their footfalls. Nick’s heart hammered in his chest, but he planted his feet and glared at the shadowy figure. “All right, you bastard. I beat you before, and I’ll do it again.”

Except he’d had Jamie with him, then.

The Wraith rushed him. He tried to sidestep, but not fast enough. The Wraith’s fist collided with Nick’s gut with all the force of a sledgehammer. Nick flew back, slamming into the sidewalk, all the air gone from his lungs.

The Wraith strode toward him, inexorable as the oncoming tide. If the fall from Belvedere Castle had left behind any injuries, they hadn’t slowed it down at all. As the Wraith advanced, it reached beneath its cloak and pulled out a knife similar to the one it had lost during the earlier fight.

Nick’s lungs unfroze, and he took a deep, gasping breath. He rolled onto all fours, hand slipping on something foul on the sidewalk. He had to stay out of arm’s reach, no matter what.

He’d given the fugitives time to run. But if he could draw the Wraith down 37th Avenue and away from their trail, so much the better.

He surged up in horse form, kicking blindly behind him. Then he broke into a gallop and fled.

Footsteps pounded after him, unnaturally fast. A glance back showed the Wraith practically on his tail. How long could the killer keep this up?

How long could Nick? He was built for strength and agility, not endurance or speed. He’d drawn the Wraith away from the fugitives, but now it seemed likely he’d end up gutted in their stead. Assuming he wasn’t the Wraith’s target from the start.

He needed help.

“Jamie!” he called through the bond.

Surprise lapped back through the bond to him. “Nick?”

“Who else would it be, witch? I’m in trouble. The Wraith is after me.”

Shock turned to stark fear. “Saint Mary, no. Can you make it to my apartment? Where are you?”

“On 37th, just past Sixth Avenue.”

“I’ve got my gun—I’ll yell for the beat copper. Just keep running.”

Nick had the feeling another witness, one not a feral, would be more useful than Jamie’s gun. “I’m not planning on stopping, trust me.”

He thundered across Park Avenue, nearly knocking a woman to the ground when she appeared unexpectedly out of the fog. If he could get far enough ahead of the Wraith, could he shift back to human form, duck into a building or doorway, and rely on darkness and fog to conceal him?

Unfortunately, getting enough distance between him and the Wraith wasn’t going to be simple. In horse form, he could easily make out the dark figure shadowing his left flank, just a few feet shy of his tail. Its black cloak billowed around it, and the white bones gleamed beneath the streetlights.

The Second Avenue El loomed out of the fog, even as a train rattled past overhead. Nick cut close to the iron trestle, hoping to force the Wraith to slow to avoid running into it. It seemed to work; he lost sight of the Wraith, and once he was back out from under the shadow of the El, he saw no one behind him.

“I think I lost him.”

Jamie’s fear spilled through the bond. “Are you sure?”

The end of the train rushed past overhead. A dark shape dropped from it, right in front of Nick.

Nick swerved desperately, even as the Wraith leapt at him with knife extended. The blade slashed across Nick’s left haunch, a stinging line of pain.

“Nick!”

Nick kicked behind him, forcing back the Wraith. He caught a glimpse of paper in the Wraith’s other hand; no doubt the hex to make him take on human form.

If the Wraith succeeded in hexing him, he was as good as dead.

Nick put down his head and ran. His heart labored, and foam flew from his mouth. Sweat coated his flanks. If he could only make it two more blocks, he could reach Jamie.

Just one more block.

And there was Jamie in the streetlight, leaning on his crutch, revolver in his right hand. Dimly, Nick was aware of Jamie’s yells, though he couldn’t hear the words over the crash of his own hooves, the frantic pace of his heart.

Jamie fired a shot past Nick. A second later, a copper in a blue uniform charged up out of the fog, gun drawn and whistle in his mouth. Unable to go any farther, Nick stumbled to a halt.

“You there!” the copper yelled, and ran past Nick. “Stop!”

Nick’s head sagged, and his legs trembled. He stood very still, breathing in great gusts of air, his heart hammering. “Nick?” Jamie asked, sounding worried. “Are you all right? Oh hell—you’re bleeding.”

“Lost him,” said the copper who’d answered Jamie’s summons. “Is the horse all right?”

Jamie’s hand stroked Nick’s flank gently. “Come on, Nick. I can’t get you inside this way. You need to turn human, okay?”

Nick bobbed his head tiredly. The effort felt pulled from his bones, and the moment he was on two feet again, he lurched and nearly fell. Jamie seized his elbow from one side, and the copper from the other. “Help me get him inside,” Jamie said. He tugged gently on Nick’s arm. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I ain’t going to let you fall.”

“I know,” Nick, said, forcing his aching legs to move. “I know.”

Nick lay on his side on the bed, naked from the waist down, while Jamie tended his injured leg. The bandage glowed white against his dark skin, making the result look worse than it really was. The slice hadn’t been deep enough to need stitches, and the clean edges meant the wound had practically sealed on its own.

“There you go,” Jamie said, patting him on the arse. “It ought to heal quick. Probably won’t even scar much.”

“Thank you.” Nick lay with his eyes closed, his black hair sticking to his face from dried sweat.

“Are you going to be all right? Need walked? Some hot mash?”

Nick cracked his eyelids open just enough to shoot Jamie a glare. Jamie grinned. “Now I know you’re feeling better.”

“Hmph.” Nick closed his eyes again, but reached out blindly. Jamie took his hand. “Thank you.”

“For coming to your rescue?” Jamie suggested. “Always happy to oblige.”

“For that too, yes.”

Jamie swallowed against sudden emotion. “I’m just glad you were close enough. If you’d been in some other part of town…” He let the thought trail off. “Where were you going so late at night, anyway? I would’ve thought you’d be busy with that saloon of yours.”

“Kyle’s going to be worried when I don’t come back,” Nick said, rubbing his eyes. “Damn it.”

“You’re in no shape to go trotting off now,” Jamie replied. Nick hadn’t answered his question, but he let it go. None of his business, really, and they had more important things to worry about. “Especially since the Wraith is still out there. It can’t have been a coincidence he attacked you.”

Nick dropped Jamie’s hand and slowly sat up, wincing as he did so. “No. As much as I hate to admit it, I must have been followed.” His frown deepened. “Behind that mask, or whatever it is, the Wraith could be practically anyone.”

“Aye.” Jamie shivered at the thought.

“He didn’t try to kill me,” Nick went on. “If he’d only wanted me dead, he could have gutted me before I had the chance to run. Instead he hit me. I think…I think he meant to subdue me.”

Jamie’s mouth went dry and his throat tried to close up. “Saint Mary, have mercy. He was going to take you to the park, wasn’t he? Kill you, just like he…just like…”

Wyatt’s name felt lodged somewhere in his chest. Wyatt’s death had been horror enough. If he’d lost Nick the same way…

The memory of how Wyatt had looked, carved up by that knife, his body in the center of a blood spattered hex, filled his vision. But his mind tried to superimpose Nick’s face, Nick’s body.

His heart couldn’t take it. He’d coped with the loss of Wyatt, then struggled again when Wyatt truly died in Central park. If he lost Nick, it would crush him, beyond any ability of time to repair.

Nick linked his hand with Jamie’s again. “I’m safe. Thanks in no small part to you.” His full lips twisted into a wry smile. “Now there’s something I never thought I’d say to a witch. You’ve helped save my life twice now.”

“Just one of many services I offer,” Jamie managed to say, though the intended smirk didn’t feel quite right on his mouth. “We should stay together from now on, though. It ain’t safe otherwise.”

Nick tensed slightly. “I can’t. I have a saloon to run, remember?”

Jamie shrugged. “I’ll bunk with you, then.”

Nick avoided his gaze. “I don’t know. You’re a witch, Jamie.”

It hurt, though Jamie tried not to show it. “I won’t set foot in the saloon. I know I ain’t welcome there. But I’ve already been in your apartment, twice.”

Nick let out a gusty breath. “The Wraith isn’t going to come bursting into Caballus to kidnap me.”

“What if he’s already there?” Jamie shot back.

Silence hung between them. Nick’s expression grew troubled…then he shook his head. “Even so.” He began to unbutton his shirt, revealing his muscular chest. “But we’re together tonight, so let me properly demonstrate my gratitude for the rescue.”

Nick returned to Caballus as soon as the sun was up. As he’d expected, Kyle waited for him despite his shift having ended some hours ago.

“You’re alive,” Kyle greeted him. “Thank God. What about Conrad and the puma?”

Nick’s heart sank. “They didn’t make it to Bryant Park?”

“A seagull familiar brought a note from the ferry captain.” Kyle ran his hand back through tousled hair. “They wanted to let me know something had happened to you. It’s worded vaguely, of course, but Rachel and the youngsters arrived at Bryant Park. They’d gotten separated from the other two in the fog. They waited, but the contact didn’t dare delay too long.” He let his hand fall to his side. “What did happen, Nick?”

“The Wraith.”

“Oh God.” Kyle paled sharply. “It’s attacking people on the streets now?”

“I don’t think so.” Nick had plenty of time to ponder on the walk back to Caballus this morning. “I think it followed us.”

Kyle’s brows drew together. “But you said the killings didn’t have anything to do with the fugitives.”

“They still might not.” Nick pulled out a chair and sat down, stretching his aching legs in front of him. Every muscle hurt from his run last night; likely he’d be sore for days. “The Wraith saw my face, and probably heard my name at the park the other night. Even if it—he—she—didn’t, just asking around for the familiar who can turn into a big, solid black horse would lead them here sooner rather than later.”

“So it might be watching the saloon,” Kyle said unhappily. “Obviously it failed to kill you. What about the missing fugitives?”

Nick shook his head. If Conrad and the puma had escaped but missed the meeting, would they have returned to Caballus? Or would they try to leave the city on their own, just to avoid winding up in the basement again?

If the Wraith had caught them, killed them, Rook would have sent word about more bodies being discovered by now. But if they’d been caught by the coppers instead…

Nick didn’t think they’d talk willingly. But sooner or later, one of them would break, and tell the coppers exactly where they’d been hiding. The Dangerous Familiars Squad would raid Caballus, and Nick would be lucky not to find himself locked away in the Menagerie.

“Nothing we can do about them now,” Nick said at last. “Go home and get some sleep.” He rose to his feet tiredly. “I’m going to scrub down the hidden room in the cellar. If the coppers raid us, I don’t want there to be so much as a hair they can use as evidence.”

Nick looked even more out of sorts than usual, when he met Jamie outside the Coven. “Is your wound hurting you?” Jamie asked. He knew he should have insisted on walking back to Caballus with Nick, instead of agreeing to meet him here later.

Nick started to shake his head, then caught himself. “A bit. How did you know?”

“Because your face is longer than when you’re in horse form.” Jamie shrugged. “I assumed either something went wrong at the saloon, or you weren’t feeling yourself. I have a pain hex, if you need one.”

“No. Not yet.” Nick paused, and his expression eased into something like a smile. “Thank you, though.”

From the outside, everything seemed ordinary at the Coven. The reporters milled about on the steps, and familiars and witches ignored them as best they could. But the moment they stepped within, Jamie knew something had changed.

Ordinarily, the MWP’s headquarters was a boisterous place. Familiars flying about, arguing, or running errands; barking, laughing, and growling as they did so. Witches asking each other for hexes, or discussing cases, or even just chatting across their desks.

This morning, the air was almost eerily still. Only a few familiars moved about the corridors, and all of them seemed intent on doing their business as quickly and quietly as possible. Witches murmured to one another, but kept their voices low.

“Did someone die?” Nick asked, so only Jamie could hear.

“Not that I’ve heard.” Jamie led the way up the nearly deserted stairs to the detectives’ area. There was a surprising lack of familiars in the room, and those present seemed to be staying in human form. A thin, pale man Jamie didn’t recognize drifted around the room, peering over shoulders and asking questions.

Rook and Dominic looked up at their approach. Dominic hurriedly bent back to his work, but Rook glanced in the direction of the stranger. “Who’s the new fellow?” Jamie asked as soon as they were close enough.

“An observer from the Police Board,” Rook murmured, as though he feared being overheard.

“A what?” Nick demanded.

“Shh! Keep your voice down, you brainless horse.” Rook shot another look over his shoulder. “His name is Charles Lund. The Police Board sent him, but he’s an aide to Senator Pemberton.”

“Not to mention a member of Ingram’s church,” Dominic added. He bent over a hex, pretending it had his full attention. “He showed up this morning, talked to Ferguson behind closed doors, then announced he’d been asked by both Pemberton and the Police Board to make sure MWP resources are used, quote, ‘as efficiently as possible.’”

Uncle Hurley’s words came back to Jamie forcefully. Pemberton and the rest only cared about the anti-illegal hex work at the moment. If Lund found out Jamie and Nick were looking into the murders, would he be satisfied that at least it was only a single witch-familiar pair assigned to the case?

“You got my letter?” Jamie asked, as quietly as he could.

Dominic nodded without looking up. “Yes. Owen and I are both very disturbed. But we can’t talk about it here.”

“Agreed.” Nick’s voice was a low rumble. “Ingram and I have clashed in the past. I doubt a member of his flock is going to look on me kindly.”

“Tonight,” Dominic said. “Dinner at our apartment. Bring the wine.”

“Right.” Jamie nodded. Mindful of what Nick had said, he added, “We’d best leave, then. See you tonight.”

When he turned back in the direction of the stairs, though, it was already too late. Lund had spotted them and made his way through the crowded desks in their direction.

“Come on,” Nick said. He put a hand to Jamie’s elbow, and they hurried toward the stairs, pretending not to see Lund heading their way.

They didn’t quite make it. “Hello,” Lund said, stepping between them and escape. “I don’t recall Chief Ferguson mentioning the two of you.”

He didn’t hold out a hand to shake, but kept both clasped behind him, like a disapproving school teacher. Lund might have been handsome, with his thick blond hair and hazel eyes, but his mouth looked as though he spent all day sucking on lemons.

Jamie forced himself to smile. “Jamie MacDougal,” he said, putting out his own hand. “We’re the newest detectives, so the chief probably just forgot to mention us. My uncle is the head of the Dangerous Familiars Squad.” Maybe that would make Lund leave them alone.

“I see.” Lund reluctantly shook Jamie’s hand, touching him only so long as basic courtesy demanded. “What assignment do you have, MacDougal?”

“Still in training,” Jamie said cheerfully, as though he didn’t have a brain in his head. “Whatever the other detectives tell us, mostly.”

Lund’s gaze shifted from Jamie to Nick. His expression grew even more sour, as though he’d smelled something unpleasant. “Is this your familiar?”

“Oh, aye,” Jamie babbled. “A horse. Did you know I was a Rough Rider in Cuba? Of course, all our horses got left behind in Tampa, except for the officers’ mounts.”

The one time he tried to fall back on his service record, and it didn’t work. “Nick, isn’t it?” Lund asked. “You own a tawdry saloon on 28th Street. Now you’re with the MWP as well?”

Nick’s smile showed far too many teeth to be anything but menacing. “Jamie here was kind enough to let me keep it, at least long enough to find a buyer. Of course, I’ll be giving it up for my witch.”

“Of course,” Lund said, but Jamie couldn’t tell if he was convinced or not. “Good to know. It’s a witch’s duty to keep his familiar out of trouble.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Lund?” Rook said. He bobbed his head apologetically as he approached. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but as you’re so interested in the illegal hexes, Detective Kopecky would like to show you something.”

“A Polish hexman,” Lund said with distaste. “As if all the Irish weren’t bad enough.” He left with Rook without bothering to say goodbye. Which was fine by Jamie.

They hurried down the stairs, before Lund could come back. Rook must have spotted Lund talking to Nick and known no good could come from it. Still… “That was quite the load of horse shit you gave Lund back there,” Jamie said.

“Did you expect some other kind?”

Jamie snorted. “Very funny. Maybe you can join Rook and I in our Vaudeville act. Do you think Lund believed it?”

Nick shrugged. “I told him what he wanted to believe. That usually does the trick.”

They reached the bottom of the steps and made for the big, bronze doors of the entrance. Before they reached it, the witch behind the desk in the entryway waved a hand and called, “Detective MacDougal? I’ve a message for you, sir.”

“Who from?” Jamie asked, even as he held out his hand for the folded paper.

The witch shrugged. “No idea. Some urchin brought it in, said he’d been instructed to tell me to give it to no one but you.”

The paper was nondescript, the sort of scrap that could be bought cheaply almost anywhere. Jamie unfolded it. In a blocky hand someone had written:

 

LAST NIGHT WAS A WARNING.

STOP NOW, OR IT WILL GET WORSE.