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I cancel my plans to travel to the city where the next crossing is due. Instead I send the werewolves, under the guidance of Prae Athim and her Lambs. They’ll have to handle this one without me.

I catch a separate plane, with Kernel, Kirilli, Moe, and Curly. I leave Larry with the other werewolves to keep them in line. I’m twitching with nerves, unable to forget the dream for an instant, wondering about the pact Bec made with Lord Loss, recalling the way she embraced him. The memory chews me up inside. I wish I’d gone after her as soon as she was kidnapped, and killed that damn priestess from the past.

On the plane, I tell Kernel and Kirilli about the dream. It’s essential they know about the threat, in case anything happens to me.

Kernel hits the roof. “Why didn’t you tell us before?” he roars. I claim innocence—until last night, there was no hint that Bec might betray us—but he doesn’t buy that. “You should have told us anyway. You know better than to hide something this important.”

There’s nothing I can say to defend myself, because he’s right.

Moe and Curly hate planes. They cower in their seats, as far from the windows as they can squirm, whining at the noise of the engines and every bump caused by turbulence. All of the werewolves hate flying. They suffer it only because they know there will be rich pickings at the other end.

At least we don’t have to bother with connecting flights. The governments and armies of the world work hand-in-hand with the Disciples now. A jet is put at my disposal as soon as I ask for one. It makes getting around a hell of a lot easier.

Kernel is still griping as we hit the runway, saying he warned me about Bec, that this wouldn’t be happening if I’d listened and that I should return him to the demon universe and set him free. He insists we’re wasting our time trying to thwart the plans of Bec and Lord Loss. Although many of the world’s lodestones—reservoirs of ancient, magical power—were destroyed or drained long ago, an unknown number still exist.