I drummed my fingers on the table, waiting for the page to load. Gil had a dozen scrolls around her, presumably comparing the information from Sabin with the articles she'd printed. Nathanial's chair squeaked as he leaned forward.

I glanced at his screen. He wasn't reading a periodical. “What are you doing?"

He frowned, still scanning the document on his computer. “My students had a major report due last week. Several attempted to prove the recent attacks supported the existence of werewolves. I seem to remember one mentioning a survivor.” He closed the document and pulled up another one.

"I thought Lorna was the only survivor,” I said, abandoning my computer to read over Nathanial's shoulder.

"She is,” Gil said without looking up. She set her scroll aside to scribble a note on a print out.

"Perhaps.” Nathanial's finger paused on the mouse's scroll wheel. “But perhaps she was not the first. According to this paper, a student from Haven University was attacked, but did not report the incident to the police."

Gil dropped her print out and joined us at Nathanial's computer. Her lips moved silently as she read. The student who wrote the paper heard about the survivor from a friend, who then put them in contact for a short interview, but the paper writer only included the survivor's description of her attacker.

Misshapen, with fur and teeth and claws. She was quoted as saying. It could have been costume makeup, but at the time ... I don't know what I saw.

"That's it?” I asked, scanning over the two paragraphs dealing with the survivor. It could have been a false claim, or exaggerated by the writer, but ... “Should we track her down?"

Gil chewed her bottom lip. “The investigators from Sabin have nothing about this, but the writer has most of her facts straight in other parts of the paper, so this survivor may be genuine. How could the investigators have missed something this big?"

I tuned her out and leaned closer to the screen. “Did the student provide the survivor's name?"

"Of course. I do not allow unattributed evidence.” Nathanial scrolled down to the bibliography and footnotes.

Sharon Hogue was our survivor's name. Nathanial copy-pasted the name then closed the document and logged into a secure page on the university's website. Several clicks later, we were staring at Sharon's personal information in the schools database.

"The address is not far,” Nathanial said, shutting the machine down. “but we will have to move quickly. Dawn is only a couple of hours away."

My heartbeat doubled its rhythm, pounding in my ears. This was the break we needed. A witness who'd seen the rogue. Now we just had to hope she could identify her attacker.

Chapter 14

We emerged from the subway on a street crowded with tenement houses. The discolored brick walls sported fading graffiti, and heavy iron bars lined more windows than not. No one had cleared the sidewalk, so we trudged through icy slush, the moisture soaking into the legs of my jeans. I almost cheered when Nathanial pointed to Sharon Hogue's complex.

The security door hung ajar, the deadbolt housing rusted out. A web of fine cracks feathered through the door's thick glass, two bullet-sized holes in the center. Nice neighborhood. Well, at least we didn't have to worry about how to get in the building. Nathanial's ascent of the stoop was more glide than climb as he moved to hold the door for the rest of us.

"Kita and I will need an invitation to enter Sharon's home,” he said as we stepped into the dim hall.

"I thought you said there was no truth to that myth."

He smiled at me. “I said you watched too many movies. I did not say they were wrong."

What a distinction.

Uneven yellow paper peeled from the lobby walls, the color likely created by years of cigarette smoke and not by design. Someone had tried to make the lobby more inviting by adding a small potted plant—the dried stem was home to a large spider web. The dimly lit stairwell creaked with each step we took, creating a symphony of groaning wood which played for all seven flights to Sharon's apartment. Opening the door to her floor disturbed a nest of cockroaches. They scurried across the landing, and Gil yelped, jumping backward. The middle of her foot caught on a step. She teetered on the edge of the stair, her arms windmilling.

I grabbed her, dragging her back onto the landing by her arm. She stared at me, wide-eyed. Then she turned and blinked at the narrow flights we'd climbed. Her gulp was audible and her trembling obvious.

I left her in the stairwell.

Sharon's apartment was easy to find; it was one of the few doors still numbered. A winter wreath of twisted brown limbs and white mistletoe berries hung on the painted wood, and a Welcome mat with happy faeries sat slightly askew in her doorway

Nathanial pointed to the mat. “We have now been invited inside."

I frowned at him. “What?"

"The mat welcomes all who wish to enter. The very reason I do not own one."

Good to know. I looked down the hall and saw three or four more mats. What would humans think if they knew their friendly footwipes gave monsters an invitation to invade their homes?

The stairwell door creaked as Gil joined us in the hall. She had a drop more color than when I'd left her, but her gaze dragged the ground. “Is someone going to knock?"

She looked up at me. I deferred to Bobby and Nathanial. No one moved. It was too late for visitors, or too early, depending on your perspective. What were we supposed to say to Sharon? Of course, we had Gil. She had a way of making people cooperative.

Still, no one moved. We looked like conspirators huddling around the door.

"Fine, I'll do it.” I rapped on the wood.

Silence answered me.

"Maybe she's asleep and couldn't hear you,” Bobby said.

I knocked on the door a little harder. A little too hard—the wood splintered under my knuckles. Crap. I'd forgotten how strong I now was, and that my knuckles were already paying for my carelessness with the fountain lion. They throbbed with the new insult.

We waited. Not a sound from inside.

I shuffled my feet. “Well that should have woken the dead. Maybe she isn't home."

"Or maybe she was attacked by a psycho and is terrified of strangers, especially when they are literally breaking down her door,” Gil said with a sting in her voice.

I frowned at her. Okay, yeah, I should have been more careful, but really, the wood was probably cheap.

Nathanial waved a hand to indicate the hall. “I doubt anyone would open their door to strangers in this neighborhood."

Great. “So what, we walk away?"

"Can you pick the lock?” Bobby asked, looking at me.

I had my doubts. I'd looked at my arm on the subway, and while the wound was pink with healing skin, it still hurt too much to move. Not too mention the fact that if Sharon was inside, she might call the cops. Getting charged with breaking and entering was not on my to-do list. I said as much.

"I can probably keep her calm,” Gil said, but she sounded hesitant, unsure.

I glanced from her to Nathanial. He shrugged. What other choice did we have? I dropped to my knees and attempted to pick the lock, but my hurt arm was useless. It just wasn't possible to put pressure on the tension wrench and manipulate the pins in the lock with only one hand. Looking up at my companions, I shook my head. No way could I pick it like this.

Gil tugged on her sleeves. “I'll do it."

She tapped the lock with her finger. Magic coursed through the air, and the lock sizzled. That didn't sound good. Oblivious and smiling, Gil grabbed the doorknob. Then she yelped, jerking her hand back.

"Mab's tears.” She waved her hand in the air as a red welt rose on her palm. My knuckles and arm throbbed in sympathy.

I glanced at the knob. Whatever she'd done, the keyhole was now melted.

Nathanial sighed. “I will have to buy her a new lock.” Ignoring what had to be scalding metal, he twisted the knob, and the locking mechanism popped.

I jumped at the sound and shot a quick glance down the hall. Between me breaking the wood, Gil's cries, and the lock snapping, we had to have awakened the whole complex. When no one emerged from the other apartments, I let out the breath I'd been holding. It was past time to get out of the hall. Nathanial smiled and ushered us inside.

The dark apartment was a mess. Shoes had been kicked off haphazardly by the door, and several articles of clothing had been thrown over the arm of the couch. The coffee table was piled with magazines, newspapers, and old mail, some of which had toppled to the floor below. What really made me hesitate was the smell. Mold for starters, though that was bad throughout the building, but also a smell of decay, like someone had left food out and forgot about it for a week. I glanced in the kitchen. It was surprisingly clean, with nothing decomposing on the counter and only a dish or two in the sink. Sharon wasn't a slob, but she wasn't exactly obsessively tidy either.

I went back into the living room and walked a circuit. Worn paperbacks covered every surface, sharing space with tossed-about clothing. Small, stuffed bears sat half buried on the loveseat, and little porcelain figurines of dancing faeries and cupids looked out of every nook and cranny in the makeshift entertainment stand and bookcases.

Gil padded down the hallway. I followed, though if we hadn't woken Sharon with all the noise we'd made entering, I doubted we could. Maybe she worked nights? Bobby or Gil would have to wait for her to come home.

Gil was still several feet ahead of me when she opened the bedroom door. She stiffened, her hand flying to her mouth to hold in a scream. With the door open, the awful smell permeating the apartment washed over me in a new wave of intensity. I ran the last few steps to the doorway.

In the middle of the room, a woman hung suspended from the ceiling fan by a belt noose. I turned away, but the smell made the image of her hanging corpse linger in my mind. I held my breath, then stopped breathing. Apparently I truly could do that. Not smelling the death in the air helped me think clearer. I turned back around and crept into the room. Bobby and Nathanial followed me. Gil still stood frozen in the doorway, wide-eyed. Her face had color now—green.