“Genetic experimentation by way of magic,” Jesse said thoughtfully. “It’s interesting, in a diabolical super-villain kind of way.”

Noring snorted. “The Luparii are not super-villains, I can promise you that. They’re more like a cult of magically gifted thugs.”

“Even so,” I said helplessly. “We’re up against evil dogs from hell.”

“That’s not entirely fair,” Noring said, frowning. “Magic itself isn’t good or evil. The bargest spell simply creates physical abilities that are then twisted into killing. The bargest is as fast and tireless as a werewolf, with tough skin that the wolves can’t bite through, and they can heal as fast as werewolves. They live for a long time too, because the Luparii didn’t want to put all that work into the creature for a ten-year life span. But its brain is still the brain of a dog. The Luparii are the ones who train it to kill.”

I glanced at Jesse, who looked disgusted. “Like bully breeds,” he said to me. To Noring he said, “We have degenerates here who breed pit bulls and rottweilers, and then pour pain and hate into them until they’re basically a weapon. I’ve seen those dogs. The people who do that to them . . . they’re monsters.”

Noring nodded. “That was the Luparii’s plan too,” she said crisply. “They see werewolves as monsters and vermin. So they created their own monster to fight them. Killers who can hunt and smell magic. And it worked: a bargest can handle a werewolf without much difficulty. Two, even.”

I thought I picked up a note of bitterness in her voice. “Will said you ran into them before,” I said neutrally. “But you’re obviously not a werewolf.”

“I’m an oncologist,” she retorted. Her chair pushed back suddenly as she stood up. Noring stalked a few feet away, out of my radius and toward the doorway where the coffee shop opened into the hotel lobby. She surveyed the lobby with her back to us. Jesse started to speak, but I touched his arm again, shaking my head. I glanced at the barista, but he was still half-asleep on his arm.

Finally Noring paced back to our table, sitting down with stiff limbs. “The Luparii work with death magic. Sacrifices,” she hissed, her voice brittle with tension. “And the bargest spell requires a human.”

I blinked. I’ve encountered witches who used sacrifices, but I’d only seen small birds—chickens and doves, mostly. Images from movies filled my mind. As if she could see them, Noring shook her head. “It’s not as melodramatic as it sounds. Money has never been a problem for them, so they go into a hospital, find a terminal patient with lots of medical debt and a family to support, and they buy him.”

“And you’re an oncologist,” I said, finally understanding. “They bought one of your patients?”

She nodded. “They tried to. That’s when I asked around and found out about the Luparii. I was young and idealistic; I tried to intervene. This was twenty-five years ago, in Suffolk.”

“Why?” Jesse asked. “I mean, you clearly have no love for the werewolves, and your patient would get lots of money.”

She stared at him coldly. “You know nothing about my relationship with werewolves. And I believe in the soul. Death magic is like using the soul as fuel,” she spat out. “It’s sick.”

“What happened?” I asked. “Did your patient go through with it?”

She turned away, as much as the wooden chair would allow. “I don’t know. The Luparii weren’t pleased with my interference. I came to the States to get away from them.”

My fingers clenched into fists. Who were these clowns? Who had the power to scare Dashiell, Beatrice, and Dr. Noring out of Europe altogether?

“How do we kill it?” Jesse asked, trying to get us back on track. “The bargest, I mean.”

“You don’t,” Noring said simply. “Their hides are too thick for bullets, and bigger weapons are too conspicuous for the Old World. Spells don’t work on them, because they’re already made from magic.” She nodded at me. “Even you wouldn’t be able to undo the spell, I believe. Bargests are permanently changed.”

“Dammit,” I complained. “How do bad guys keep finding these frickin’ loopholes?”

Jesse ignored me. “Could you undo the spell?” he asked Noring. “I mean, if we captured it, could it be . . . I don’t know, dissolved?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that, not when there’s a sacrifice involved. A trade has already been made: a human life in exchange for the magic to be placed in the creature. To undo it, you’d need a second human sacrifice and a full coven of witches, or a very powerful boundary witch—not to mention an ancient strain of mandrake root.” Noring realized her voice had gotten louder and leaned forward to continue quietly, “Even then, I doubt anyone outside of the Luparii could pull it off. They haven’t exactly shared the secrets of the bargest spell.”

“Boundary witch?” Jesse asked, eyebrows raised.

“Witches whose particular skills are in death magics,” Noring said shortly. “They are anathema even among other witches. I’ve never even met one, or at least a witch who would admit to being one.”

I winced. The first dead body I’d ever destroyed, back when I was working with Olivia, had been that of a witch who had died playing with death magics. We wouldn’t be undoing the bargest spell anytime soon.