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I made myself a snack while I waited, since I’d missed dinner. The sandwich looked amazing, not because of my skill but rather because Galen always had the best food on hand.

It probably came from a fear that hungry werewolves could eat people, which meant they liked to keep good food around.

Just as I cut it down the center, Galen came around the corner, his bare feet soft and silent against the hardwood floors. His hair was messy, as though he’d simply finger combed the strands, and more tension than usual sat in his shoulders.

Was that because of me waking him up or was he stressed about the issue with the Weres?

He didn’t address me at first, instead going over the coffee maker and setting it up to brew a pot.

I’d hit the point where I knew I’d just miss sleep for today, so bring on the coffee.

The scent filled the room, but the liquid percolating and spilling into the carafe was darker than usual. That seemed a sure sign that he wasn’t doing that great, and probably not just because of the whole four in the morning thing.

We didn’t speak as he made two cups of coffee. He made mine just the way I liked it and set it before me, then sat across the table.

He took a sip, closed his eyes as he savored it, then finally looked at me. “All right. Now, what was so important that you woke me up at four in the morning?”

“To be fair, I’ve snuck in here lots of times. You normally hear me before I ever get to your room.” Saying it out loud made me realize just how weird that really was. Why hadn’t he heard me?

“I’ve been dealing with a lot and not sleeping well. I suggest you don’t try that again. If you ring the doorbell, I’ll hear no matter what.”

I pursed my lips at the idea of ringing the doorbell. I hated that, probably because I feared somewhere inside of me that if I asked for permission to enter, I wouldn’t get it. I’d seen too many closed and locked doors in my face to want to put myself willingly into that situation.

“Do you want to hear what I found or not?”

He nodded. “You came all this way—you might as well tell me.”

I tapped the book and explained how Knot had told me about it and how Ruben had helped me get it from the archives. He said nothing, just listened the way he often did.

I’d give him credit for that—Galen had always been exceptional at just letting me get the story out first.

“I stayed up reading it last night. See, Knot didn’t tell me what exactly I was looking for, as usual. It took a while. The book is written about Spirits, about how they come into being or disappear. It’s a book of stories, of fables, but this one here, the stagnant river,thisis our answer.”

“A book of fables is our answer?” His question came out dry.

“It’s about a clan of Spirits who traveled too far away from their source. They wanted to find new grounds, always wanting to expand, to have more. So the clan picks up and relocates, over and over again. Each new generation spreads farther, moves farther away, and they start to forget where they lived before. They start to forget the river that had given them life, that had fed them and helped them to survive. They eventually don’t tell those stories anymore, and the river forgets about them. See, the water has to flow much farther now to reach them, and the rivers fork off and because they’ve traveled so far, the water doesn’t flow right anymore. It grows thick and is full of algae and illness. The entire clan ends up dying because they are too far away from the water source.”

Galen took another drink of his coffee, and I couldn’t read his expression. Did he understand my point? Did he read into the story? He set his cup down. “So you think that story has something to do with what is happening now?”

“Knot wouldn’t have sent me there if it didn’t. Look, we know that energy flows from central places, right? That’s what creates the clans. Those central places of power are the waterfalls. What if because we’ve forgotten about those, we aren’t doing something we’re supposed to anymore?”

Galen sat back in his seat. “A long time ago, long before I became a Were, I’ve heard stories that the heads of the different types would make pilgrimages to somewhere in the forest. Every Were would when they first became one, and the elders at other times to honor the old god.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in the old gods.”

“I don’t. I think people—Spirit or human—are fantastic at turning things they can’t understand into gods. They’ve done it forever. However, there might be something to what you’re saying. Perhaps there is something that has to be done for the energy to flow correctly.”

“Why would it only affect the Weres, though?”

“There are more Weres than other groups, so that could be why. Or maybe whatever has to be done, the other clans are still doing some of? Or it might still hit the other clans, but the Weres showed the symptoms fastest?” He shook his head, as though frustrated by the lack of clear answers.

“So what now?”

“There is a very old Were who might remember such times. He isn’t really sane anymore.”

“Is he locked up then?”

“No. He isolated himself a long time ago, so we leave him alone for the most part.”