They all looked at me thoughtfully. “What about the animals?” Kirsten asked. “In all the lore, there are horses and dogs, at the very least.”

“That’s what I’m not sure about.” I checked my watch. We had twenty minutes until sunset—though I doubted that the Wild Hunt would begin the moment the sun went down. That kind of complex magic would require a whole ritual to begin. “That’s why we need fighters.”

“And another thing,” Jesse added, looking inspired, “I don’t suppose any of you have access to animal tranquilizers?”

A couple of minutes later, the conference room sort of became the situation room, as everyone began talking or texting, trying to assemble their people.

I expanded my radius so Beatrice and Dashiell could move around the mansion, and kept an eye on Will as he made his calls. Many of his weaker werewolves had already left town, so he didn’t have as many calls to make as the others. When he finished, I asked him if we could talk in the hall for a minute. He looked surprised—the two of us didn’t really do much one-on-one time, especially since I had broken up with his second-in-command—but he complied.

“What’s up?” he asked after I closed the door behind us.

“Listen . . .” I began, not really sure how to begin this conversation. “Uh, you know we’re probably all gonna die tonight, right?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. But we’ve been probably going to die before.”

“That’s not . . . grammatically sound, but yeah. Anyway.” I took a deep breath.

It was stupid of me to interfere, of course, but hey. Sometimes I do stupid things. Will had a daughter he didn’t know about. Sashi had never told him about Grace, and now it might be too late.

When I’d called her on the way to Dashiell’s place to thank her for saving Noah, I’d asked if I could tell Will she was in town.

“Do you think that’s really necessary?” she’d said in a panicky voice. “I’m going back tonight. He doesn’t need to know I was ever here.”

“Sashi.” I’d tried to think of the right words, and finally just said, “I’m pregnant.”

She’d gasped. “That’s not possible.”

“Apparently it is. Do you remember the guy I lost in Vegas? The other null?” Despite what was happening with Jesse, it still hurt to think of Jameson. It probably always would.

“Yeah,” Sashi had said, and then, “Oh.”

“Yeah. He died not knowing he was going to have a kid. And Will . . . there’s a good chance we won’t make it through this tonight.”

“I see,” she’d said in a small voice.

“Look, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be the world’s shittiest mom, and I have no right to give you advice. But maybe if Grace met Will . . . maybe if she understood why you couldn’t marry John . . .”

There was a long silence, and I was sure I’d overstepped. But all Sashi had said was, “What do you have in mind?”

Now that I was standing across from the alpha werewolf, I struggled for the right words. “This morning, when Noah was attacked,” I said finally, “I made a call to a healing witch I met in Las Vegas. She took a late-morning plane and got here in time to save him.”

“A healing witch,” he echoed.

There really wasn’t any way to sugarcoat this. “Will . . . it’s Sashi.”

His face changed. Actually, his everything changed. His body language went from loose and relaxed to sort of defensive and prepared. Like he thought I was about to kick him in the teeth, and there was nothing he could do to stop me. “My Sashi?” he said, in a voice that sliced at my heart.

I nodded. “She’s in town, although she’s on a late flight back to Vegas in a few hours. If . . . you know. You wanted to talk to her.”

He stared at me. “Why did you . . . I mean, how did you and her . . .” He drifted off, and then sort of shook himself. “Does she want to talk to me?”

Not really. But Sashi felt that the news should come from her, which I had to respect. “She thinks it might be a good idea,” I said carefully. “But it’s up to you.”

“How do I . . . should I call her?” The alpha werewolf of Los Angeles suddenly looked like an uncertain kid on his way to pick up his prom date.

I checked my watch again. “She should be parked out on the road.”

He turned and started toward the door before pausing. “Thanks, Scarlett,” he said quietly.

I felt like I should add something. Wait until you learn what I’ve been keeping from you. But I just nodded and headed back into the conference room, shutting the door behind me.

Dashiell called me over. He was standing with Beatrice and Hayne, who looked a little guilty. “Did you invite a boundary witch into my territory?” Dashiell said, his face clouded over with annoyance.

Oops. With everything that had happened, I’d completely forgotten that Katia was coming to help Wyatt. But she would have called Hayne when she arrived . . . and Hayne would have felt obligated to tell Dashiell. I couldn’t really blame him for that. “Uh, a little bit?”

Dashiell frowned, and I rushed to add, “Look, it didn’t seem like a big enough thing to wake you up over during the day. But yeah, I thought if Katia had any chance of saving Wyatt, it was worth a phone call.” And, okay, I’d forgotten about it.

Beatrice laid a hand on his arm, and he sighed. “Sometimes,” he said tiredly, “I honestly think you’re trying to drive me insane.”

“It’s really more of a fringe benefit than an overall goal,” I said helpfully.

Beatrice shot me a look. “I’m sorry,” I added, more contrite. “It’s been an intense week.”

Dashiell just waved me away.

Chapter 43

When most people think of rivers, they think, you know, “large body of quickly moving water.” But the Los Angeles River is different. Mostly, it’s a gigantic concrete trough that usually has a trickle of filthy liquid running down the middle. You know the big race at the end of Grease, where they’re in the wide concrete channel that’s completely dry except for a tiny bit of water? Yeah, that’s the LA River. It’s littered and polluted, and until very recently, it was one of many ugly things in Los Angeles that people just sort of averted their eyes from, like homeless people, graffiti, and the condition of all public bathrooms.

In the last decade or so, however, activists had made serious efforts to “rebrand” and revitalize the river, starting with removing the concrete bottom from many sections so native plants could grow in again. New parks had also sprung up along the river, and bike trails, and there were places where you could even kayak.

The vast majority of it, however, was still a wide, dry channel. And if you weren’t concerned with being seen, or facing possibly violent homeless squatters, you could use it to move through most of the city. There was no traffic, no crowds of distracting humans. And, best of all, no one paying attention.

Kirsten had called in the witch who did volunteer work for the LA River, and she’d arrived at Dashiell’s house within fifteen minutes, which was pretty damned impressive. Her name turned out to be Paloma Greene, which really, really sounded made up, but then again, that could just be LA for you.

I was expecting some variation on “New Age hippie,” but Paloma arrived in jeans and a button-down shirt, smelling of fertilizer. She was about fifty, with short, sensible black hair and the look of someone accustomed to running four lives at once. A mom look. “I was working in the garden,” she said, unconsciously scrubbing her hands together, though they didn’t look dirty. “What do you need?”

Kirsten explained, and Paloma went over to the map still spread across the conference-room table. She stood there for a few minutes with her hands on her hips, looking over her options.

Part of the recent revitalization project had included setting up a bunch of new parks along the river, or sprucing up existing parks to encourage people who wanted to use the channel for bike or walking trails. Paloma pointed at a green spot very close to Long Beach. I squinted to read the name: Maywood Riverfront Park. “This one,” she said. “There are residential homes around the park, but most of it is fenced and contained. And the entrance from the river forms a choke point.”