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Eastbrook chuffed, greeting her like an old friend.

Drawing a fingertip over Eastbrook’s head, Westvane shrugged, telling him to take flight. The raven obeyed and leaped skyward, adding another pair of eyes to the hunt.

He watched his friend soar, then turned his attention to Truly. “Listen, carefully.”

“You lead, I follow, right?”

“You get me to Rittenhouse Square, then back off,” he said, issuing instructions, not wanting her anywhere near the Wendigo. “The second I lay eyes on the beast, the hunt begins, and I’ll be gone. Stay down range. Follow at a distance. When I need you to open a door, I’ll call.”

“Sounds good,” she said, agreeing with him, making him suspicious.

“I mean it, Truly. Stay out of my way.”

“You said that already.”

“Bears repeating.”

“Won’t be a problem, Westvane.” Leaving him standing by the car, she jogged across, then down the street. He caught up with her as she turned into a narrow alleyway and ramped into a run. “I’ll stay out of your way, as long as you stay out of mine.”

Westvane bit down on a curse.

Exactly what he feared. Truly had an agenda of her own. Bad news. Her skill at finding trouble was fast becoming legendary, which meant he was once again in unchartered territory. Glaring at the back of her obstinate little head, he made a split-second decision.

His plan needed adjusting.

With her running rampant, he’d be forced to fight on two fronts. The first battle — hunt, capture, and re-cage the Wendigo. Challenging enough on its own. The second, however, would be even more difficult — keeping Truly from sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. Given her luck, she’d get it lopped off, or worse, get herself killed.

A serious problem.

He needed Truly to remain in one piece, hale, whole, able to open doors at will. Now, and in the future. If the execution of tonight’s plan went sideways, Lyonesse would be waiting when he returned the Wendigo to Eckizbad Prison. The worse possible outcome. A scenario that not only put him in the queen’s crosshairs, but ensured Truly ended up a sitting duck, vulnerable to whatever violence the faithless witch and Priestly had planned.

44

DON’T LET GO

The crowd thickened on Walnut Street.

Standing on the corner, surrounded by people taller than her, a block from Rittenhouse Square, Truly glanced over her shoulder. Right behind her, Westvane wore a scowl that would scare motor oil out of an engine.

Nothing new. He almost always conveyed displeasure when he looked at humans. Though,displeasuremight be too tame a word.

His expression gave nothing away, but she’d learned to read him. He wanted to kill someone. Brandish his lightning sword. Conjure his smoke shield. Slam both into multiple human heads. The nasty gleam in his eyes clued her in, which was how she knew he’d truss her up, stash her some place safe, and leave her behind if she got in his way.

“Can you see a way through?” she asked, trying to distract him from committing murder while she took advantage of his height. And Eastbrook. Maybe the raven could find a path through all the people.

Someone jostled Westvane from behind, pushing him into her.

His nostrils flared. His eyes grew blacker. Citrine light sparked in their depths as the air around him cooled. Frost touched the top of his shoulders, then rolled over hers. Her breath became white puffs as the man bumped him again. Baring his teeth, Westvane turned, palmed the guy’s face, and shoved him backward.

The offender went flying.

The crowd scattered, opening a hole as the man hit the pavement with a thud.

She stared at the guy on the ground, then refocused on the Assenta warrior standing at her back. “Calm down, Westvane.”

“I hate people.”

Truly dug down deep and buried her smile. He wouldn’t appreciate her sense of humor. Not right now. Teasing him wouldn’t her get anywhere, other than tossed like a caber.