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They pounced on their coach, beating and biting as he fought and screamed. 

So it wasn’t an actual ritual,” Morgan said as we sat at the police station. “Just a mishmash?”

“It’s not an uncommon belief,” Clay said. “Imbibing the strength of your enemy.”

“By literally imbibing them?” Morgan shook his head. “I hope those kids never find out what they did.”

“They won’t if their parents can help it,” I said.

“What a mess,” Morgan said, shaking his head. “A crazy, fucked-up mess.”

It was indeed a mess, one that Jessica Dales and the town of Westwood would be digging out from for a long time. Jessica had kept us informed as she questioned Hanlon and Jaggerman, and we’d pieced together what we could. It had started with Charlie Lacoste. Like most academics—professional or not—he’d focused his attention on one specific area of interest. For him, it was rituals of consumption and transfer, whether it was drinking bear blood or eating your enemies in an attempt to appropriate their strength. It was, as Jess had said, strictly academic. That’s where the fight with his stepson began, when Charlie’s wife got sick and Tom Hanlon somehow got it into his head that one of his stepfather’s rituals might help—if not to save his mother, then at least to give her the strength to undergo treatment.

Town legend said that after his wife’s death, Charlie went off the rails, but it seemed more that his son drove him there. Hanlon had done his own research when Charlie refused to help, and after his mother’s death, he became obsessed with what he’d learned. He came up with a new application for his obsession—using these rituals to help his football team win.

Yes, football. It didn’t seem any less crazy now than it had when we first discovered the connection. Even after talking to Hanlon, it didn’t make more sense. Somehow, it had to Jaggerman, though, the volunteer assistant coach who’d been his wingman in all this. It had also apparently made sense to Hanlon’s girlfriend, Marnie, the server at the diner, who’d canceled our repair service. She was also the one who’d drugged Morgan the other night at the diner and called Hanlon to say she’d found a victim.

That’s who they targeted—drifters. Young men, strong and healthy. They set them loose in the forests with the key members of the football team, who’d been drugged and brainwashed into thinking they were still in the cave, imagining a vision where they were seeing animals, which they’d hunt and then, yes, partially eat, to imbibe their strength.

It had even seemed to work, taking a losing team to the state finals for the past three years running. I’d say it was the power of suggestion. When these boys came out of their drug-induced state, they knew only that they’d undergone a powerful magical ritual that made them better players. They believed it; they won. In those three years, four graduating team players got a full college ride, several more got partial scholarships. I think it was hard for me to really comprehend the importance of that for a town like Westwood. For many of these kids, college had never been an option. Now it was.

There was the matter of town pride, too. I think I couldn’t quite understand the importance of that either. But I could see it, in the signs and the murals. They had a winning team; their children were winners; their town was a winner. That’s what drew Jaggerman and Hanlon’s girlfriend into his mad scheme.

It
was
mad, of course. Tom Hanlon was not a sane man. No one could be, to hatch such a plot. He’d almost certainly murdered his stepfather. From what we could tell, Charlie finally figured out what his stepson was doing. That’s when he vanished.

And Ricky Rivera? That might be the biggest tragedy of all. Hanlon implied he’d been killed by one of their victims. Maybe he had, but Hanlon said a few things later that made Jessica suspect Ricky’s own teammates had done it. Ricky had been weak, Hanlon had ranted. They’d tried to include him, but the others “smelled weakness.” I don’t know if that’s true. I only know that if it is, I hope to God those boys never remember it. And I hoped to God the Riveras never learned the truth. The death of their son would be enough for them.

•

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked Jessica.

We were in her office, Clay and I, Morgan outside with Kent, who seemed shell-shocked and really wasn’t much help. There was no sign he’d played any role in what happened. If he had, I’m sure Jaggerman would have dragged him down with him. So why had he been taking photos? I wasn’t asking and I wasn’t telling Jessica. I’d have to at some point—she needed to know that he could be a problem—but she had enough to deal with.

She hadn’t answered my question, just sat there, drinking hot chocolate, staring into space. I asked again.

“I don’t know,” she said. “This is beyond…I’ve seen things. I’ve heard things. You know what it’s like in our world. But this…I don’t understand. I really do not understand.”

“I don’t think it helps to try,” I said. “The state police or the FBI or someone will come in and take over and you just have to step back and let them. Protect your town. Protect the kids. They didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know.” She exhaled. “I have to question Jason, though. The boy who vandalized your vehicles. He searched your rooms, too—he works at the motel sometimes. He was one of the boys out there.”

“I saw him.”

She swallowed. “I’m hoping Hanlon just made up a story to get Jason to slash your tires and search your rooms, but…I don’t know. Wouldn’t he have thought it was odd if one of you guys suddenly went missing?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Hanlon seemed to have a real hold over the boys. He probably just fed him a really good story. Told him we were…I don’t know, spies from a rival team? Faked Morgan’s disappearance to upset the town and throw the team’s game?”

“Football.” She shook her head. “All this for football.”

It was more than football, but as I’d said, it didn’t help to tease out all of the motivations. Ultimately, what Hanlon, Jaggerman and Marnie did would still be incomprehensible. “Question Jason. Question Hanlon
about
Jason. If the kid seems clean, keep a really good eye on him for a while. Just in case.”

She nodded. “I will.”

•

We left Jessica to her work, with an invitation to call me if she needed to talk about anything on the case. Or if she had concerns about having the Pack living so close to her town. I gave her Paige’s contact information, too, in case she wanted support from that angle.

Both cars had been repaired. We drove Morgan to his.

“Can I follow you guys to Stonehaven?” he said. “Or would you rather take a breather at home and I’ll come by in a day or two?”

I twisted to look at him. “I thought you were leaving.”

“I was. Then I changed my mind and came back, which is how I saw that kid and nearly got myself killed.” He paused. “On second thought, maybe that’s a sign.”

“Only that you should have joined us for breakfast instead of taking off. You should come for the weekend. The Sorrentinos are driving up tonight with the boys. It’s not an official Meet, but a good way to observe the Pack in its natural habitat. As long as you don’t mind the noise. Seven werewolves and two five-year-olds means a very chaotic household.”

“As long as no one tries to kidnap or hunt me, I’m fine.”

“Actually…” I glanced at Clay. “We can’t guarantee that. But we will ask them to go easy on you.”

“All right then. You have an extra houseguest.”

I smiled. “Good. You can follow us back.”

•

We called Jeremy to tell him we were bringing Morgan. When we arrived, Morgan asked to head out back first, get a look at the property. Giving us time to say hi to the kids. I appreciated that, especially considering that our children seemed to have inherited some of Clay’s “no strangers in my den” attitude. I’m sure Jeremy had warned them, but they’d be more comfortable meeting Morgan outside and bringing him in after introductions.

Clay and I walked into the house and braced for shouts and pounding feet.

“We’re home!” I called.

Silence.

“Hey!” Clay bellowed. “Anyone here?”

When no one answered, my heart started tripping. Ridiculous, I know. It’s a big house. They could be in the back room, watching videos, or upstairs, Kate plugged into her iPod, Logan engrossed in a book.

I yelled again. Still nothing. I checked the garage. My car was there. So was Clay’s.

I took a deep breath and went for the back door, moving fast. Clay didn’t tell me I was being foolish—that Jeremy was with them, that this was our house, that nothing could have possibly happened. He knew it didn’t matter. All I could think about was what had happened in Westwood. About the families of those young men who’d passed through, lost young men, their families waiting, hoping for a call, dreading a call.

Most of all, though, I thought of Ricky Rivera, the smiling boy in the photo, the horror of his death. I thought of his mother’s rage, his father’s quiet grief. I thought of that sign on their lawn. And I thought of that light. That single light, burning for the child who’d never come home.

The back door was locked. As I fumbled with it, Clay reached over and pulled it open, then stuck his head out, shouting so loud it made my ears ring. I stepped outside. Morgan was in the yard. He turned to us, looking confused.

“Do you see—?” I began.

“Mommy!” a voice shouted behind me.

I turned as Kate thumped down the hall, dragging her foot. She launched herself and sent me smacking into the wall as I caught her.

“We were hiding,” Logan said as he walked toward us. “You were supposed to come find us.”

Of course. An old trick, one I should have guessed. In trying to take charge of the investigation, I hadn’t shared much with Jeremy, certainly not enough for him to have any clue that I’d panic when the kids didn’t come running.

When I didn’t reply, Kate pulled back. “What’s wrong, Mommy?”

I hugged her, as tight as I could. “Nothing,” I whispered. “Nothing at all.”

It
was
nothing. No reason to worry any more than I already did, which was probably enough for a half-dozen
anxious parents.

No one was going to break into Stonehaven and steal our children. No one was going to sneak onto the playground and steal them there either. I looked at Kate’s foot, and while I still felt a pang of guilt, I knew I’d been overreacting yesterday to think she could have been snatched during my brief moment of inattention. I’d heard her scream. I’d been there in seconds.

We had to be vigilant. There was no question of that. While the chance of a stranger grabbing our children was slight, the chance of a mutt trying it was much higher, and it would only grow as our children did, moving farther from the safety of the den.

We couldn’t be with them all the time. But we could train them to look out for themselves. We’d already taken the first step last year, letting them know what we were. The door was open, not to frighten them, but to warn them, to make them aware of what it meant to be the children of the Pack.

I boosted Kate up onto my hip. “So I hear we’re having company this weekend.”

“Uncle Nick and Uncle Antonio and Reese and Noah.”

“Maybe even Karl and Hope,” Logan said. “Hope was talking to Jeremy and she said they have news. Special news. They might come up and tell all of us.”

I glanced at Jeremy, now beside Clay. He nodded, “Special news.”

“Well, that does sound intriguing. We’ll have another guest here, too. Someone I’d like you to meet. Let’s head out and say hi.”

With Kate on my hip, I took Logan’s hand, smiled at Clay and Jeremy, and led the kids to meet Morgan.