People around me died, usually in horrible and bloody ways, so I’d sent Julie to the best boarding school I could find. Trouble was, Julie hated the school with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. She’d run away three times in the past six months. The last time Assistant Principal Parker called, a girl in the school’s locker room had accused Julie of being a whore during the two years she’d spent on the street. My kid took exception to that and decided to communicate that by applying a chair to the offending party’s head. I’d told her to go for the gut next time—it left less evidence.

If Parker was calling, Julie was in trouble again, and since he was calling at six o’clock in the morning, that trouble had a capital T attached to it. Julie rarely did anything halfway.

Around me the room lay steeped in gloom. We were on the top floor of the Keep. To my left a window offered a view of the Pack land: an endless dark sky, still untouched by dawn, and below it dark woods rolling into the night. In the distance the half-ruined city stained the horizon. The magic was in full swing—we were lucky it hadn’t taken out the phone lines—and the distant industrial-strength feylanterns glowed like tiny blue stars among the crumbling buildings. A ward shielded the window, and when the moonlight hit it just right, the entire scene shimmered with pale silver, as if hidden behind a translucent gauzy curtain.

The female voice came back online. “Consort?”

“Yes?”

“He put me on hold.”

“So he calls because it’s urgent and puts you on hold?”

“Yes.”

Jackass.

“Should I hang up?” she asked.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll hold.”

The world’s pulse skipped a beat. The ward guarding the window vanished. Something buzzed in the wall and the electric floor lamp on the left blinked and snapped into life, illuminating the night table with a warm yellow glow. I reached over and turned it off.