Chapter 8: The Council Table

The Kincaid pack house was forty minutes north of the city, behind a stone wall and a gate that opened before the car reached it.

"Who's Marian?" I asked Tiernan on the highway.

"Your mother," he said, and his hands tightened on the wheel. "I'll tell you everything tonight. After dinner."

"After dinner."

"I need you to meet the council first. They've asked to see you. If I refuse, they'll come to the tower and see you worse."

"Is this a trap?"

"Probably," Tiernan said. "Eat nothing my aunt hands you."

"Ansel said that too."

His head turned. "You've spoken to Roth."

"He was at my door. He didn't come in." I looked out at the dark trees. "He was polite. It was disturbing."

Tiernan said nothing for a mile.

"About this morning," I began.

"You resigned."

"I un-resigned."

"Section four doesn't allow that," he said. "I've read it twice."

"You wrote it."

"Dane did. I only signed."

I put my head against the cold window so he wouldn't see me smile.

The dining room was long and lit by candles, with a table for twenty and eight people at it.

They stood when Tiernan entered, and every one of them looked at me and not at him.

At the head of the table sat a woman with silver hair in a tight twist and gray eyes.

She was in her late fifties and sat very straight.

"Aunt Sonja," Tiernan said. "This is Stevie Larkin."

"The stray," Sonja said pleasantly. "I've heard so much."

She said it warmly, which was worse than if she had said it coldly.

"I'm told you fix toasters," she said, and a man down the table laughed.

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