LAILA KARLTON LOOKED small in the hospital bed. Her face was very round and with her hair around her face in tight waves, she looked five, an earnest, sad five. The looking small and young could have been because the three men on either side of her were big guys. All three were at least six-four and built big and solid. The two younger men were muscular and fit, their barrel chests fitting into trim waists. The older of the younger men had a flat stomach that promised a real six-pack under the T-shirt. The younger one was softer in every way; though he hit the gym, he didn't hit it as hard as his brother did. The oldest man looked like a slightly aged version of the younger men. It had to be Karlton's father and football-playing brothers.

Once I saw the mountain of men in the room, I was glad that I'd left Nicky and Lisandro out in the hallway. Socrates and I were enough to add to the crowd.

"Anita," Laila said, and her large brown eyes were suddenly shinier, as if tears were threatening. Jesus, all I'd done was come into the room.

"Hey, Laila," I said, and went toward the bed.

"This is my dad and my brothers."

"I remember you talking about them, and you vastly underestimated how damn big they all are." That made everyone smile, which was what I'd hoped for, but I honestly did feel a little dwarfed by the three men. One at a time, fine, but all three were like a crowd of buildings that moved and held out their hands as Laila introduced us.

Her father was Wade Karlton, the older brother was Robert, and the younger was Emmet. Laila called him Em, immediately, as if his whole name were M, but Robert she always called by his full name.

"And this is Russell Jones," I said, motioning Socrates forward from where he'd waited by the door. Russell was his real name, not the nickname he'd been given when he joined the werehyena group in St. Louis. Their Oba, or leader, gave them names, usually from Greek philosophers or mythological characters. A lot of animal groups had naming conventions for some reason.

Everyone shook hands, but Laila looked a question at me. "Russell used to be a cop," I said.

She looked from him to me. "Used to be?"

"Until a gangbanger turned out to be a shapeshifter and cut me up."

She gave him wide eyes, and again there was that shimmer of unshed tears. "You're a . . ." She just stopped.

"Shapeshifter," he finished for her.

I felt the three men around me tense, as if his saying it out loud either made it more real or made them feel insecure. They were big guys, used to being big, strong guys, but though Socrates was inches smaller in both height and shoulder width, he was suddenly someone they had to take into account. Shapeshifter meant that you couldn't just look at him and get a good sense of his physical capabilities. Size wasn't everything now; it was probably not a thought the Karlton men had to think very often. And then I felt something in their posture, something that made me glance up to see their faces. They looked angry, and the younger brother couldn't hide that there was fear underneath that anger.

"Jesus, people, you act like Russell is going to shift on the spot and go on a rampage."

The brothers looked at me and were a little embarrassed, but the father kept his anger and his cool. "It's nothing personal to Mr. Jones, but he is contaminated with something that turns him into an animal." I was beginning to realize where some of the problems were coming from for Laila.

I smiled at him. "Mr. Karlton, may I speak with you out in the hallway?"

He looked at Socrates. "I'm not comfortable leaving my children with Mr. Jones."

"Mr. Jones works with me," I said. "He's here to help me catch the person who hurt Laila."

"It takes a monster to catch a monster," Wade Karlton said.

"Daddy," Laila said, "he's just like me. He's a cop who got attacked on the job. Do you think I'm a monster, too?"

Wade turned and looked at her, his face stricken. "No, baby, I'd never think that about you."

"Yes, you do, you won't even hold my hand."

He reached out toward her but stopped in midmotion. The pain showed on his face, but he couldn't make himself touch his daughter. The younger brother, Em, took her hand in both of his, holding her hand up against his body. He glared at his father. His eyes were shiny now, too.

Robert, the older brother, laid his hand on her leg under the sheets, because that was what he could reach. He wouldn't look at anyone, and I caught the shine of tears as he turned away.

"Mr. Karlton, you need to talk with me out in the hall, now. Russell will talk to Laila."

"I can't leave my boys with him."

That was it, I'd been nice. "Your boys, as if Laila isn't your girl anymore. She's not dead, Mr. Karlton, she's just a shapeshifter. She won't even change until next month's full moon. She's still your daughter. She's still everything she ever was."

"But not a U.S. Marshal." This from Laila.

I turned and looked at her. The first tear trickled down her cheek. "They're gonna take my badge."

"Did they say that?" I asked.

She frowned a little. "No, but you know the rules."

"For regular cops, yes, but for the preternatural branch of the service, they're a little more flexible."

"You don't change shape, Anita, that's why they haven't taken yours."

"Maybe, but I know that until you shift they absolutely cannot take your badge, not without a fight."

She looked at me. Her younger brother was looking at me now. Robert was wiping at his face with his free hand, the other still on his sister; I think he was too emotional to look at anyone just then.

"You're a shapeshifter, too?" Em asked.

"No, but I carry lycanthropy. My blood tests come back with it, I just don't shift."

"You'll shift," Wade said, "you all do."

"I've been like this for two years now. I carry it, it helps me heal, be stronger, but I don't change shape."

"Can Laila not change shape?" Em asked.

I shrugged. "She probably will, but until the week of her first full moon she won't be a danger to anyone."

"You don't know that," Wade said.

I looked up at him, and it was good that I'd had lots of practice staring way up at very tall people and being tough while I did it. I let him see the anger in my eyes, because I was angry with him. He was making a terrible situation even worse for his daughter. Fathers weren't supposed to make things worse.

"I do know that," I said. "I've lived with two shapeshifters for years now."

"They gave it to you," he said, and his tone made it sound liked the bubonic plague or AIDS.

"No, they didn't. I actually got cut up by a bad guy and a shapeshifter who waded into a fight to save me. The bad guy didn't mean to contaminate me, he meant to kill me."

Socrates came up behind me, and I got to see Wade Karlton flinch a little. "My sister felt the same way you do when I got hurt. I haven't seen my nephews, or her, in five years. Mama and the rest of us miss them."

Wade looked at Socrates. "You mean you miss your family."

"No, Mama invited me to the first Thanksgiving after I was hurt. When my sister saw me, she took her kids and left, said she'd never be there if I was there. Said I wasn't safe, said I was an animal. Mama takes a dim view of anyone badmouthing her children, so I see my family every holiday. I'm the oldest of five. I've seen every nephew and niece as a newborn, and been at all the birthday parties, ball games, school plays that I can manage. My one sister stopped coming because she thought I'd be there. Then two years ago her oldest got involved with a gang, and I went down there and helped get him out of it, because gangbangers are just as scared of wereanimals as you are. I made sure the boy got himself straightened out. Last semester he was on the honor roll and it looks like he's got a shot at a football scholarship to a good college."

Wade looked at Socrates, and I couldn't quite read the look, but apparently Socrates could, because he said, "His father was bigger than me, built more like your boys and you." Socrates grinned, sudden and happy in his dark face. "I've seen defensive lines just give up, once he hits them just once."

"You play ball in high school?"

"In high school. I wasn't big enough or good enough for college ball, but John is; he's what his father could have been if he'd had someone to keep him out of the gangs."

"You knew his father?"

Socrates nodded. "Went to high school with him, but the gangs and the drugs got him."

The two men looked at each other. I just tried to be quiet and invisible between them, because this moment wasn't about me, it was just them.

"I coach a city school; we lose a lot of kids."

"Too many," Socrates said.

"Does your nephew play locally?"

"No, they're in Detroit."

"What's his name?"

Socrates told him.

It was Em who said, "I know him. We were at football camp together. He was the only guy as big as me, and as fast."

Wade nodded. "I remember him. What schools is he being scouted by?" And just like that, they started talking football, and there was no more us vs. them, it was just guys and sports. I'd never been so happy to listen to people talk about sports in my life.

Socrates moved Wade and Em off to one side to talk football and colleges. Robert moved up and took Laila's hand. I came to the other side and put my hand over hers where it lay on the sheets. She looked a little startled. We didn't know each other that well.

"I don't wanna go steady or anything," I said, "but I want you to know that there's nothing wrong with you. You're good, Laila."

She shook her head, and moved her hand so she could hold my hand. The tears began to trickle down her face. "I'm not good. I'm going to lose my badge."

"I told you, they can't take it yet."

"But they will."

"Maybe," I said, "probably. I won't lie to you; if you keep your badge you'll be the first full lycanthrope to ever manage it, but right now you are a U.S. Marshal of the preternatural branch, and thanks to having lycanthropy you're healed, right?"

She nodded. "They kept me because they're trying to talk me into a government safe house where I won't be a danger to others."

"Bullshit on the safe houses. They're about to lose a Supreme Court decision this year, for unlawful detainment among other things. You're not a danger to others, Laila."

Her voice squeezed down, and she said, "I will be."

I shook her hand, made her look at me. "Yeah, for the first few months, or even the first couple of years near the full moon you'll need your pack to make sure you're in a safe place, but that's part of what they do for new members."

"My pack?"

"Your animal group. What flavor of wereanimal are you?" I asked.

"Flavor?" She blinked up at me, still crying.

"Kind of animal?"

"Wolf. I'm a werewolf." She said it like she didn't quite believe it yet.

"Then pack is the right word. Different animal groups have different words for the group."

"I know some of that from class," she said.

"Yeah, you'll have a step up because you've studied werewolves."

"Their crimes," she said, and started crying again.

Her brother patted her arm while he was still holding her hand. He looked at me as if to say, Do something. I was strangely used to large, athletic men looking to me to fix things.

I shook her hand again, and when she didn't look up, I said, "Laila, look at me." She still didn't. "Marshal Laila Karlton, look at me!" Maybe it was using the title, but she finally did what I wanted, and looked up at me with so much pain in her eyes, so much loss.

I had to swallow hard and realized there were tears underneath somewhere in me, too. There are always tears. "Do you want to catch the man who did this to you?"

She frowned, and then nodded.

I held her hand tight for another moment, then let go and gave her the stern look she needed. "Then get up, get dressed, get your gear, and let's go catch the bastard."

"I can't . . ."

"You were stabbed four times, but thanks to the lycanthropy you're well. Hospital beds are for sick people; you're not sick. Get the fuck up, get dressed, and help us catch the monster that tried to kill you."

She looked startled.

Mr. Karlton behind me said, "Language," as if it were automatic.

I didn't apologize, as earlier had been about him and Socrates, and now was about Laila and me. "Do you want to catch the guy that did this to you?"

"Yes," she said, her voice a little breathy.

"Then get up and let's do it."

She looked at me, startled almost, and then the ghost of a smile touched her face. "You mean it?"

"Hell yes, I mean it. Get dressed, we've got bad guys to catch."

She grinned at me, sudden and wonderful with the tears still wet on her cheeks. Robert caught my attention across the bed, still holding his sister's hand. He mouthed, Thank you.

Some days it's not about catching the bad guys. Some days it's about helping the good guys feel better. It had taken me a few years to realize that the second part of the job was every bit as important as the first.

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