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“They’re stumped. They’ve been sending the patients away with useless prescriptions meant for colds and flus. A few of those people have gone home only to wind up in emergency the next day, complaining that they can’t breathe. Some of those people have been put on respirators.”

Darien stared out at the choppy water sloshing against the end of the dock. The area was quiet, not a single other person in sight. Gulls swarmed the afternoon sky. Their white bodies nested on buoys, a few of them picking through scraps of food and napkins in the sand of the Lonely Beach.

“You’ve got that look,” Finn said.

Darien blinked. “What look?”

“That look that says you have an idea.”

“More like a fear,” Darien sighed. “If what that warlock said is true, and there are people using aura magic to open the Veil, then I wonder if all this is linked. Maybe these animals are dying, and people are getting sick, because they’ve already started to lower the Veil.” According to legend, the Veil separated the land of the living from the realm of the dead. The two were not meant to mingle, and if they did, if the legends were true…

Finn’s brows shot up. “You actually believe all that?”

“You don’t?”

He shrugged. “I grew up thinking it was nothing but kooky legend.”

“So did I. But I’m not writing anything off.” Darien dug his keys out of his pocket and made for his car. “Call me if anything else happens.” He turned back around as he walked and pointed a finger at Finn’s trunk. “And make sure you take care of that. If this comes back to bite me in the ass, I’ll make your life a living hell.”

“I got it, Cassel.”

Darien got in his car and started the engine. He was about to put it in drive when his phone buzzed with an incoming message. He got it out of his pocket and checked the screen.

The contact name Dickface Jacky flashed across the screen. Darien unlocked the phone and read the message.

Sup, Big Boy. You having a Surge?

Darien typed a reply. When am I ever not having a Surge?

Hahahah, Jack wrote. And then: Fifty Grimnachts nesting in Silver Claw. Coming?

Yeah, why not.

I’ll be right there, he wrote back.

—

Werewolf Territory never failed to entertain.

Darien, Jack, Tanner, and Lace took down the last of the Grimnachts in the kitchen of Silver Claw. It was a nightclub in the Silverwood District with a head chef who, judging from the state of his kitchen, specialized in rancid meat and side dishes that looked like slop and smelled like milk that had been left out to curdle in the sun.

“On your left!” Darien barked as one of the small winged creatures—body like a bird, face like a vampire—dove for Tanner’s neck with a high-pitched screech, knocking the blade out of his hand.

Tanner swatted it out of midair with a—

Cast iron frying pan. It worked surprisingly well too.

It dropped to the floor, wings splaying. Tanner stomped its skull flat with the heel of his boot. Black blood squirted across the checkered tile.

“Cast iron.” Darien nodded in approval. “Nice, Atlas.”

Tanner cracked a smile.

Another Grimnacht swept for the back of Tanner’s neck.

Lightning-fast, Darien grabbed it by the tail and whipped its body against the ground, the impact killing it instantly.

“What did I say about watching your back?” Darien barked to Tanner as Lace and Jack took down a dozen of the creatures with automatic weapons, kitchen staff watching from the perimeter of the long room. Blood misted the air, and bullets riddled the walls, drywall exploding.