Chapter 5: The Bridge

The river bridge was old iron, painted green, and it was the line between Langtry land and Mossgrave land.

By noon both packs were lined up on either bank.

Langtry wolves on our side in their good jackets, still hungover from the ceremony.

Mossgrave wolves on the far side in gray, standing very straight.

Mags and I lay on our stomachs in the trees above the Langtry bank.

"This is a terrible plan," she whispered.

"You haven't heard the plan."

"I can see it on your face. It's terrible."

Arlo stood at the end of the bridge with a backpack on.

It was the green one with the dinosaur patch.

I'd packed it for him a hundred times for school.

Somebody else had packed it today, and his jacket was buttoned wrong.

He wasn't crying.

He was standing very still with his chin up, the way he did when he was trying not to.

Aldric stood beside him in black.

He looked like he hadn't slept.

Cordelia stood on his other side in pale blue, one gloved hand on Arlo's shoulder.

On the far bank, a big silver-haired man in a gray coat waited with his hands folded.

Alpha Mossgrave.

Cordelia's father.

I'd seen him a dozen times in five years, at dinners where I stood against the wall holding a toddler.

He had never once looked at me.

"Where's the baby?" Mags whispered.

I scanned the Langtry line.

Clover was in the arms of a kitchen woman near the back, Mister Buttons in her fist, staring at her brother.

"Okay," I said. "Here's the plan."

"Oh, God."

"I walk down there."

"That's not a plan. That's a sentence."

I stood up.

I'd borrowed Mags's spare flannel shirt and a pair of her jeans rolled up four times.

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