PROLOGUE

Cynthia ran.

This part of the Cascade warehouse district was deserted, most of the buildings empty. There weren't any lights to let her see her way, except for the light of the full moon when it wasn't covered with the scuttling clouds. It gave the night scene an eerie appearance, more appropriate to Halloween but completely wasted on her. She was already scared out of her wits.

She'd only been in Cascade for a couple of weeks. She'd been tired of small town life, and at the mature age of sixteen, she'd decided to head for the bright lights of the big city. Now she just wanted to go home again.

Behind her she could hear the sounds of her pursuers, getting closer all the time. Howls filled the air, and she couldn't tell whether they were human or animal. Gasping, she found the energy to speed up, not noticing the water that had soaked through her sneakers, making every step squish.

Cascade had been everything she'd imagined, and scarier than she'd thought. She'd barely been off the bus before the first guy had offered her a way to make money, but she'd read about that. She had some money, tucked in her shoes, and didn't plan of turning tricks. She was going to find a job, make a life. Within a week she hadn't been so sure, but she kept looking. She was going to make it.

She wasn't going to make it. Her pursuers were getting closer. Her gasps were now more like sobs. She tripped and crashed to the ground, splashing in the filthy puddles, but was back on her feet at once. Her knees and palms were bleeding now, and the howls were getting louder.

She'd quickly learned that the warehouse district was the best place to find a place to sleep. The last recession had left a lot of the buildings without tenants, and there were always ways in for a resourceful teen. It wasn't heated, but it was shelter from the almost nightly rain. She'd heard horror stories from other kids on the streets. Stories about disappearances and deaths in that area, always during the nights of the full moon. She'd laughed. She knew an urban legend when she heard one. She wasn't going to be scared off by stupid stories.

She swung her head wildly, looking for a way out. A dark space between two buildings beckoned. If she could find a hiding space there, she could wait for morning when *they* would disappear. Maybe she could even get inside one of the buildings. There would be a lot more places to hide in there.

She swerved, heading for the passage. It was dark and smelled, and she thought that she heard the sounds of rats or something, but she was too scared to care. All that mattered was survival, and it was seeming less and less likely by the moment.

Then she saw him. An indistinct figure silhouetted in the light of the full moon, standing at the other end of the passage. For a brief moment she thought that he might be able to help her. Then she whimpered. The man's eyes were glowing. Glowing red.

Suddenly, the howls took a triumphant note. Twisting, she saw them behind her. There was no way out.

She was dead.

Cynthia collapsed to the ground sobbing. She never should have left home. She never should have come here. She wished that she had stayed where she had been reasonably happy.

As her hunters drew near, she closed her eyes and waited. The chase was over.

She had lost.

Detective Jim Ellison rolled over in bed. Something was missing. Something very important. Still mostly asleep, one arm reached out, feeling around the sheets until the hand found bare skin. Someone *else's* bare skin. The hand immediately grabbed on and pulled the other close. Jim buried his nose in thick curls, sniffed appreciatively, and was quickly asleep again.

For about ten seconds.

When the phone rang, it caught him completely off-guard. His heart suddenly pounding, Jim sat up in bed, flailing around until he found the cell phone where he left, on the bedside table, and answered the ringing. The alarm clock shone the time in the dark, four am.

"Yes?"

From the other end of the phone line came the voice of his captain, Simon Banks. Jim's heart was no longer racing, but his stomach was starting to tie in knots. Next to him, Blair stirred.

"We're on our way," he promised, then hung up. He didn't get up immediately to get dressed, though.

"What is it?" Blair's eyes were still sleep-hazed, peering through his tangled curls.

"Full moon. It's started again."

That woke the young man up immediately. "The warehouse district?"

They were both out of bed now, pulling on the clothes that they had discarded the night before. Somehow, they had both managed to forget what night it was.

"Yeah. Extra cops patrolling the area, and no one saw or heard a thing. Damnit, *someone* should have heard something!"

Blair rested a hand on his shoulder, both restraining and soothing. Then he turned to pull on his last shirt layer.

"I'm ready," he said.

"Are you?" Jim asked, suddenly feeling tired in ways that had nothing to do with simple physical fatigue. "Cause I'm not. Let's go, Chief."

The crime scene was as bad as Blair had expected.

Scratch that. It was worse. Much worse. Blair shivered in the chill December air as he watched the forensics team crawl all over the site.

The first death had been in September. This was the tenth. All the victims had been street kids. Two still hadn't been identified yet. Three deaths a month, one for each night of the full moon. Blair looked up at the silver disk lighting the sky and shivered again. This time it wasn't because of the cold.

Jim hadn't wanted Blair to deal with this case, but he was the reason that it had been handed to Jim. The timing seemed to imply some sort of ritual involved, and Blair was the closest thing to an expert in rituals that the police department had available at the moment.

Unfortunately, almost every religious group in the world, both past and present, assigned special significance to the nights of the full moon. Even focusing on just the ones that went in for sacrifice didn't help. There were just too damn many. Hell, the press had even started calling the killer a werewolf, because of the timing and the viciousness of the killings.

Simon was directing the forensics team, as though they didn't know their own jobs. The pressure that was almost unbearable for Jim and Blair was much worse for their captain. As the head of the Major Crimes division, he was the one fielding the calls from the press. He was also the recipient of all the pressure from the Mayor's office. Blair snorted to himself at the thought. Normally, his high-and-mightiness the Mayor of Cascade couldn't be bothered about the deaths of street kids, but he was getting heat from the press too, and he did not like it one bit. He wanted this solved, *before* the next municipal elections.

The forensics team had finished their work. Now it was time for the dog and pony show to go into action, Blair thought as he moved to Jim's side. He focused on his partner, trying to ignore the crime scene. He'd seen the others, and knew what was there. This time, the victim was a sixteen year old girl, fresh from the farm from the sound of it. Like the others, she'd been dismembered. The ME who had performed the last nine autopsies had found the same thing, each time. The victim had been literally ripped limb-from-limb. No signs of any implements being used had been found on any of them.

Far worse was the determination that the victims had been alive and probably awake for most of it. Shock and blood loss were what usually killed them, although victim five had actually died of a heart-attack, before the torture had gotten very far. Turned out that he had a mild heart defect. Blair wondered if the killer had been disappointed, then shuddered at the gruesome thought.

In addition, evidence at the sites said that the victims were chased to wherever they were found. As a result, the case was being referred to as 'The Hunt'.

"Anything, Jim?" he asked, modulating his voice into the low tones that Jim found so soothing when concentrating on his senses. He said it helped him focus without zoning out. Zoning out in front of an audience was a very bad thing, Blair thought to himself. There were a lot of people hanging around, and not all of them were *completely* blind to his strange behavior. Several of them had been heard speculating on whether or not Ellison had... special abilities. So far, no one had come close to guessing the truth, but it would be better if they weren't speculating at all.

"Nothing. The blood scent is overwhelming..." Jim gave a small shiver, like a horse shaking off a fly.

"All right... Filter out the blood. You know what blood smells like, and it isn't necessary. Ignore it, and look for other scents."

Blair watched as Jim frowned in concentration and his nostrils flared. "Sweat. A lot of sweat. Different types. Fear. Exhilaration. Many. There were more people with her than one."

"Okay. The forensics team is leaving, so we can get a closer look. Focus your sight. Don't try to concentrate on anything. Just let your eyes scan the area. Anything out of place should catch your attention."

There were times that Blair wondered if what he was doing was putting Jim into a light hypnotic trance. He started talking, and Jim usually followed the instructions. Jim had also said that it was always easier with Blair there. On his own, it took more effort and concentration.

After several minutes, Jim shook his head. "Nothing. You'd almost think that they cleaned the area when they were done."

"Anything?"

Blair nearly jumped out of his skin when Simon's voice came from behind him. "Man! Don't *do* that."

"Sorry, Sandburg." Surprisingly, the captain actually *did* sound sorry. "The place is getting to me too. Anything?"

"Nothing," Jim said, frustration very evident in his voice. "I was just saying that it was like they cleaned up when they were done."

"They?" Simon frowned, chewing on the end of his cigar.

"Yeah. All I get is that there are multiple scents. I'm pretty sure that there was a group. Forensics come up with anything?"

"Five clear fingerprints on the dumpster over there," Simon said, pointing at the rusting metal heap. Blair was surprised. He would have thought that fingerprints would be impossible to get off of it. "They're going to run it through the system, but considering there were no matches any other time, I don't really have much hope." Fingerprints had been found at the other sites, and some matched from site to site, but never turned up in the computers. Whoever they were, they hadn't been arrested for anything in the past, it seemed.

There was a low sound, and after a moment Blair identified it as Jim growling. The sound escalated until Jim lashed out, striking a handy wall. Both Blair and Simon winced in sympathetic pain.

"This isn't supposed to *happen* in my city," he snarled. Simon looked at Blair and mouthed 'my city?'. Blair just shrugged. "This needs to *stop*."

"No problem," Simon replied in a sarcastic tone. "Come up with a way."

Before Jim could come up with an equally sarcastic reply, Simon was gone, no doubt headed for his office to wait for the inevitable calls to start.

"Any point is sticking around?" When there was no answer, Blair turned back to Jim. The big man was staring off into the distance, no expression on his face. "Jim?" Blair reached out to touch the man's arm, worried that he might have slipped into a zone-out.

Jim immediately gave a shake. "Sorry, Chief. It's just there was something... I don't know. It's just a weird feeling. Not important."

"Don't be so sure, Jim. Your senses might be picking up on something too faint to register in your conscious mind, so it's affecting your sub-conscious. Maybe when we get back to the loft we should try full hypnosis to see if you can identify whatever it is."

Jim gave him a fond smile. "Not now, Chief. I just want to go home, shower, change and get some coffee before I have to go in to work for the day."

The smile disappeared as they headed for the truck. "I just can't believe that I forgot that it was the first night of the full moon. I shouldn't have been sleeping like a baby while she was dying. I should have been doing something about it."

Blair didn't say anything. He knew exactly how Jim felt.

As he climbed into the truck's passenger seat he glanced back at the crime scene. A sudden shiver ran through him and he understood what Jim meant about a weird feeling. For a moment it felt like something was watching him.

Something very unpleasant.

Johnny Crane slammed his locker door shut, and winced as the ringing of metal on metal rang through his head. Gathering his books together, he headed down the hallway of the East Cascade High School. First period was starting in ten minutes and he was wondering if he should even bother.

"Johnny!"

He winced again, and turned around. "Hey, Chris," he answered as his best friend since grade school came pounding down the hall, a grin on his face. The teenager skidded to a halt next to him, his expression turning concerned.

"Hey, you okay, man? You look like shit."

Johnny had to smile at the blunt honesty. Chris had known him since kindergarten, and there was no need for bullshit between them. "Killer headache. Pretty bad nightmares last night."

"Maybe you should go see the nurse. Go home for the day and sleep it off," Chris said, concerned.

"Nah. It'll fade. They usually do. I gotta get going or I'll be late for class."

"Wanna do something tonight?" Chris called out as Johnny headed for class.

"Can't! Got study group with Mr. Arawn after school. See ya!" Mr. Arawn's study group was one of the best in the school. It had taken forever to get into it, and he wasn't going to risk being kicked out for not showing up when he'd only been in it for a couple of weeks.

Arriving at his first class, Johnny slid into his seat, wondering if maybe he should have taken Chris's advice after all. He felt like death warmed over. But that wasn't what really worried him. What did was the faint traces of something rust-colored on his hands when he woke up that morning. Traces of what looked suspiciously like dried blood. That, combined with the nightmares, worried him.

Serena Chang looked up from her computer as the Siamese Twins of Major Crimes entered the Forensics lab. Her co-worker, Samantha, had coined the phrase back when she was still dating Blair. Her main complaint had been that you almost never saw one without the other, and Sam liked the undivided attention of her boyfriends. Luckily, that relationship had fizzled pretty fast. When Sam was angry at a boyfriend, her sense of humor turned nasty.

"Anything?" Jim asked, no preamble. His eyes looked a little blood-shot, and his shoulders were slumped in a depressed way. Next to him, Blair was missing his trademark energy. At least this time she could say...

"Yes."

That brought an immediate reaction. Both men perked up, with almost identical expressions of anticipation. Serena had heard the speculation in the lunch room over whether or not the men were lovers. After all, they lived together, worked together, and showed up at most PD functions and parties together. Both of them had dated since they met, but never dated the same woman for very long. The ones who said that they *had* to be lovers said that it was just cover. The opposition said it was proof that they weren't. Serena didn't much care, but if they were she would *kill* for video tapes. She hid the grin at the thought.

Instead she beckoned them over to the computer. "We got a match on one of the partial prints found at the site. Actually, we shouldn't have. They were from the juvenile records of one Mark Jenkins, seventeen years old. He was picked up for hot-wiring a car and taking it joy-riding two years ago. He was given probation, and community service time, then the records were supposed to be destroyed. Somehow, the fingerprint records got missed. The print is a perfect match."

"Serena, I could kiss you," Jim said, staring over her shoulder at the screen. "This is the first break we've gotten on this case."

"Could, hell," Blair said. "I *will* kiss you." With that, he leaned over and planted a big (if distressingly chaste) kiss on her lips.

Serena grinned back at him. "C'mon, Blair. I know you can do better than that," she said, pursing her lips. Unfortunately, Jim grabbed the back of his collar and pulled him away.

"Let's go, Romeo. We've got a teenager to track down."

Serena pouted a little to herself as the two men left. She'd been kind of looking forward to a proper 'Blair kiss'. According to Sam, he was damn good at it.

Oh well, it wasn't like she didn't have enough work to distract her, she thought, turning back to her computer.

It hadn't taken much to learn that Mark Jenkins was still living in Cascade, although nowhere near the warehouse district, and attended the East Cascade High School. Jim quickly checked in with Simon, who was thrilled to hear that there was a break, but wanted this stopped *now*. Then Jim and Blair had climbed into his truck and headed for the High School.

Since it was the middle of afternoon classes, they went to the administration office. Jim showed his ID and explained that he needed to talk to one of their students. After calling the PD to make sure that he was who he said he was, the principal sent a runner to fetch Mark.

"I'd really like to know what this is all about," the woman said, turning back to Jim.

"Sorry, ma'am. I'd prefer to wait until Mr. Jenkins gets here," Jim said.

"He's a good boy, you know," she said with a bright smile. "He got in trouble a couple of years ago, I know. He fell in with the wrong crowd. But he's turned around since then. He's near the top of the school's academic list, and participates in all sorts of extra-curricular activities. He's a perfect example of what a student *should* be."

She drew breath, as though she were going to continue explaining what a fine, upstanding young man Mark Jenkins was, but a knock at the door interrupted her.

"You wanted to see me, Mrs. Martin?"

The teen at the door was nothing unusual, Jim thought. About Blair's height, with brown hair and eyes. The clothes were tidy, blue jeans and a t-shirt. The only thing out of place was the lines of strain around the mouth, and a slight redness to the eyes.

"This is Detective Ellison," the principal said, indicating Jim, "and Mr. Sandburg. They asked to speak to you."

"Sir?"

Jim gave the boy an intense look. "There was a death last night in the warehouse district. Your fingerprints were found at the scene. Do you know how they got there?"

There may have been strain on the face, but there was no mistaking the confusion. "I don't understand. I haven't been anywhere near there. It's too dangerous, these days"

"Your fingerprints was positively identified, and it was right there."

The principal frowned. "How could you have matched his fingerprints? His record was supposed to be destroyed."

"There was some sort of oversight, and his fingerprints managed to stay in the system. As soon as this case is done, they will be. For the moment, they are a link to a violent crime."

"But I've never *been* there!" The teenager was insistent, and starting to look upset.

"Then where were you last night?" Jim promptly shot back.

"At home! I got home at six, after my study group, and went to bed at ten. Ask my parents!"

Jim realized that they weren't going to get anything more from the kid. "All right, if they confirm your alibi I'm sure there's no problem. Maybe the screw-up that left your name in the system managed to associate it with someone else's fingerprints. We'll check into that. But we may need to talk to you again. Also," he added, holding out his business card, "if you think of anything, give me a call."

The kid took the card with a jerky nod. Then he looked to the principal for permission to leave. As soon as he got it, he was gone.

Jim stood, and shook the woman's hand. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Martin."

"No problem, but I'm sure that there has been some sort of mix-up here. Mark couldn't be involved in this."

Jim gave a non-committal shrug as they headed for the door. He paused, noting that Jenkins had stopped to talk to a very tall man with red hair. For a moment the man looked up, and Jim met a green-eyed gaze that left him shivering.

"Who is that?" he asked the principal, not able to look away until the other man turned, breaking their gaze. Jim shook his head to clear it.

"Hmm? Oh, that's one of out new teachers this year, Mr. Arawn. He teaches English and History. He's a very dedicated teacher. He also runs our most popular study group. Mark is part of it. High grades are one of the requirements to get in," she said proudly, "and our students have the highest averages in the city."

Jim nodded, not really noticing. Instead he watched as Arawn led Mark Jenkins from the room.

"So what do you think?" Blair asked as soon as they were in the truck. "Was he lying?"

Jim frowned. "He was upset, and nervous. He was also hiding something. But he *was* telling the truth when he said that he'd never been in the warehouse district."

"Then maybe there *was* some sort of mix-up."

Jim shook his head. "No, I don't think so. There was a faint smell of blood on the kid, and I don't think it was his own. There is *some* sort of connection. I'd bet my badge on it."

"So now what?"

Jim frowned, starting up the truck. "First we talk to his parents. Find out if they confirm that he was home, and whether he could have gotten out of the house without them noticing. Second, I want to know everything about that teacher."

Blair blinked at the apparent non-sequitur. "Arawn? Why?"

"I don't know. I just know that there's something about the man that bothers me."

Arawn watched as the two men walked down the hall, only half-listening to his student's nervous explanation of why he'd been called to the principal's office. The strength of the two men was impressive.

He turned back to Mark, making all the right reassuring noises. But in the back of his mind he was making plans. First off, Mark Jenkins had become a liability, since the police had somehow managed to identify him.

And this Mr. Sandburg. His big detective friend was tempting, but too strong to be a viable prey. But the young man...

Mr. Sandburg was fascinating. He had obvious potential, if it were ever trained. Trained, he could be a danger to Arawn, and his plans for the city. But he was obviously untrained, which made him was prey. Very tempting prey.

Arawn smiled. He had preparations to make.

At eleven o'clock, both Blair and Jim were still awake, but exhausted. Mark Jenkin's parents had confirmed that their son had been home, but when pressed had admitted that they hadn't checked on him until seven in the morning, and that his bedroom window opened over the house's garage, which meant that he could have sneaked out without them knowing.

As for Arawn, they still hadn't learned anything about the man, except that he had been hired by the high school over the summer, and that he was from out of town. They were still running his name through the computer system, in hopes of finding something out. Finding out that the man had arrived in Cascade only two weeks before the first deaths had raised the hackles on the back of Jim's neck.

Jim finished yet another circuit of the loft, his nerves refusing to let him sit. He wanted to be out in the warehouse district, using his enhanced senses to stop the killer before he started, but he knew that it was useless. They'd tried that last month. He had gone into a one hour zone-out that had left Blair nearly panicked, and Simon had refused to let him try again. He needed a detective, not a vegetable, he'd growled.

"Sit down, Jim, before you drive *me* crazy," Blair snarled from the sofa. Jim wanted to snarl back, but he knew that his partner was even more on edge than he was.

"Sorry, Chief."

Obediently, Jim sat down, but within a couple of minutes he was up and pacing again.

"Exhausting yourself isn't going to help, you know," Blair said, tossing down the journal that he'd been trying to read for the last two hours. He hadn't been very successful.

Jim sighed, stopping to stare out the window. "I know that. I just can't relax. Someone is going to be killed tonight, and I'm no closer to finding out *who*!"

"That's not true," Blair said in a soothing voice. "We have the fingerprints of Mark Jenkins, and this new teacher looks suspicious. We are a *lot* further ahead than we were twenty-four hours ago. You *will* solve this one. Have *faith*."

Jim pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the french doors leading to the balcony. "I don't think I have any faith, any more," he said, knowing full well that he sounded defeated.

There was no response to the comment. Then a gentle hand gripped his shoulder. He turned to find Blair standing right next to him.

"Let's go upstairs, Jim."

Jim snorted. "Sorry, Chief. The way I'm wound up, I don't think I could *get* it up."

"What?" Blair said in mock horror. "You thought I planned to wear you out with lots of hot sex? How could you think that?" Then he smiled. "Trust me, big guy."

Figuring that it couldn't hurt, Jim followed Blair up to their bed.

"Now, undress and lie down on your stomach."

"You're sure this isn't about hot sex?" Jim asked with a leer. He got smacked, then kissed, for the comment.

So, he undressed and lay down on his stomach as ordered. He resisted the urge to turn his head to see what Blair was doing. Instead, he listened as Blair went through a drawer. An 'Aha!' told him that Blair had found what he was looking for.

The 'Aha' was followed by the sound of a cap being removed, and the air filled with the gentle scent of vanilla. Jim took a deep breath and relaxed a miniscule amount at the familiar scent.

The mattress dipped, as Blair sat down next to him. Then slick hands descended on his shoulders, making Jim gasp.

"Relax, beautiful man," Blair whispered, starting to massage the tense neck muscles. Strong fingers probed, finding the spots in most need.

"Have I ever told you how much I love your back?" Blair asked, as his massaging hands drifted lower. "Your shoulders look broad enough to support the weight of the world, and the muscles are strong enough to actually do it. But you don't have to do it all by yourself. Let others pick up some of the burden. Let me help you balance it. It's what I'm here for. But for now, just relax. Do you hear? It's raining outside. Just listen to the sound of the drops hitting the roof. Nothing else is really necessary. Nothing else to worry about. Just listening to the rain fall.."

Despite his best intentions, Jim found himself starting to drift off. The insistent fingers were loosening all his muscles, and the hypnotic voice was drawing him deeper into relaxation. Deeper. Deeper.

Deeper...

Blair smiled fondly at the gently snoring man beneath him. Jim had never been able to resist a good massage. Considering how stressed out he could get, that was a good thing.

Blair tidied up the detritus of the impromptu massage session, then undressed. He climbed into bed, next to his sleeping partner, and pulled the covers up over the both of them.

Cuddling up to his Sentinel, Blair couldn't help sighing. At least one of us is going to get a good night's sleep, he thought before closing his eyes. Somehow, he didn't think that he was going to.

When the call finally came, Blair was awake. He had slept fitfully during the night, his slumber interrupted by disturbing nightmares that dissolved when he woke. He blinked, still not quite aware of the world, while Jim got the word on where they were expected. The alarm clock said five am.

As they drove towards the warehouse district, Blair wished that he had a cup of coffee. He could *really* use some caffeine.

"Blair?"

"Hmmm?"

"Thanks."

Nothing more was said. Nothing more was needed. All part of the Shaman/Guide package

The crime scene was pretty much the same as the night before. Gruesome. Blair tried to ignore the pools of blood, not quite as shiny as the rain puddles, and the distressingly young victim, while he guided Jim through using his senses. He hadn't really expected anything, considering the rain and how clean the other crime sites had been.

This time, however, Jim found something.

"Over here," he called, indicating for one of the forensics team to come with a camera.

"What'cha got, Detective Ellison?" the young man asked, snapping his gum.

"Footprint."

Neither Blair nor the young man could see anything, but Jim insisted it was there. However, when a light was shined across the surface, it glittered into appearance. A track, from a shoe with some sort of oil on the sole, in a spot that had been shielded from the rain.

"Looks like a sneaker tread. Size ten, I would guess," Jim said while the forensics photographer took pictures, changing the light angles to get more details. "Mark Jenkins wore about a size ten."

Blair closed his eyes, trying to remember. "Nikes," he said.

"Very nice, little one."

Blair opened his eyes. "Huh?"

"What?" Jim asked.

"Who said that?"

"Said what? You were the last person to speak, Chief. Nikes, you said."

Blair shook his head. "Sorry. I guess I'm hearing things."

Jim shot him a wry grin. "Considering the surroundings, I'm not surprised. C'mon, let's go in to work. I'll even stop at the bakery so that we can get some coffee and bagels."

Blair's stomach turned at the thought of food, but coffee certainly sounded good. As they drove away, Blair looked back at the crime scene, brightly lit by flood-lamps and flashing lights. For a moment, he could almost swear he heard the voice again.

"Later, little one."

Forensics took almost no time at all to identify the sneaker treads as being from a pair of Nike Air Max, the same type of shoe that Mark Jenkins had been wearing. It wasn't enough to get an arrest warrant, but it was certainly enough to justify asking Mark and his parents to come to the station for questioning.

Blair went with Jim to the Jenkins house, since Jim figured that the smaller man would be a little less intimidating.

Jim knocked on the door. Since it was only seven thirty, he wasn't surprised to find Mr. Jenkins home.

"My name is Detective Ellison," he said, showing the man his badge. "We spoke on the phone yesterday."

"Yes," the man said suspiciously. "Is there something else you need to know?"

"Could we speak to Mark?"

"Why?" The man was starting to sound belligerent.

"Sir, if necessary we can get a court order. We just need to talk to him."

The man had graduated to full glare, but he nodded to his wife. "Go see if Mark is awake."

Jim relaxed into a parade rest, an instinct left over from his army days. He extended his hearing, in case the kid decided to go out the window, or something.

Jim frowned. He could clearly hear Mrs. Jenkins go up the stairs, but hers was the only heartbeat he could hear on the second floor. He heard a door open...

And a scream rang out.

Jim was immediately heading up the stairs, Blair on his heels. Mr. Jenkins was right behind them. At the top of the stairs, he could see Mrs. Jenkins standing in a doorway. Jim moved her out of the way so that he could see what was in the room.

Mark Jenkins was lying on his bed, still dressed in street clothes. His hands and face were covered in dried blood. The bottom of his shoes gleamed with a film of oil.

And he was most definitely dead.

Jim scanned the room, while Blair pulled out his cell-phone to call Simon. There was a gleam of oil on the window sill, showing how the teen had gotten in and out. The question was why?

"So what was the word from Dan?" Simon asked when they got back to the PD. Jim shrugged.

"He said that he couldn't even *guess* at what killed the kid. There were no injuries, and none of the blood was his. It was like he just... died. The autopsy will tell us if it was a heart-attack or aneurysm, or something like that. They're also testing the blood."

"You think it's from last night's victim?"

Jim nodded. "I'd bet on it."

Simon sighed, staring at the papers on his desk. He reached out a finger to a framed picture on his desk and traced his son's face there. Daryl Banks was about the same age as Mark Jenkins. He was also the same age as most of the victims. "Any chance that he was the only one?"

"No. For one thing, he was smaller than a couple of the victims. No way he could have restrained them long enough to kill them that way. No. I think he's dead because we identified him. Alive, he might be able to name the others. Dead, we're back to where we started."

Blair poked his head into the office. "Sorry to bail on you Jim, but I've got two classes to teach today, and a shit-load of paperwork waiting to be done. I'll see you for dinner?"

Jim smiled at him fondly. Blair did a fantastic job, considering he was doing a juggling act to balance his work at the university, his work at the PD, his dissertation research and being Jim's guide.

"No problem, Chief. Call me if you're going to be late."

"Yes, Mother." With a wave, Blair was gone, and Jim turned back to Simon.

"The only thing we have left is this new teacher, Arawn."

"Is there anything to tie him to the deaths?"

Jim sighed. "I'm afraid not. But he was taking a lot of interest in Mark Jenkins, and he did arrive in town only two weeks before the first death. I know its thin, but it's the only possible lead we have left. Besides, my *instincts* say that he's key."

Simon glared at him, probing to see if Jim would back down. He didn't.

"All right, it's better than nothing. See if you can find out anything else about him. Contact his former employers, and anyone else he knew before moving to town."

From down the hall, Chris could see Johnny at his locker. Final period had just let out, and he'd been looking for his friend.

Johnny looked even worse than the day before. He didn't seem to be registering his surrounding at all. Chris came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. Johnny spun, wild-eyed, then relaxed a bit once he realized who was there.

"Johnny?"

Johnny leaned back against the locker. Chris was getting worried. Even when he'd had pneumonia, Johnny had never looked this bad.

"Sorry. It's been a long day."

"C'mon. I'll drive you home. Dad let me have the car today."

Johnny shook his head. "Study group. Don't want to miss it."

Chris frowned at him. "You're in no shape for study. There's no point in you going. C'mon." He tugged at Johnny's arm, but the other boy dug in his feet.

"I *have* to be there," he insisted, then pulled away. He stumbled, then got himself under control. Heading for the study hall, he didn't notice the look of concern on his friend's face.

Chris was getting really worried. Rumors were already flying about Mark Jenkin's death. He didn't know the guy, really, but he did know that he had been part of Mr. Arawn's study group, along with Johnny. He didn't think that there'd be much going on today, but Johnny really looked like he should be at the doctor's, not school.

Chris decided to go see Mr. Arawn. He'd explain about Johnny, and get permission for him to skip the study group. He turned and headed down the hallway to the English teacher's classroom. Hopefully he'd still be there.

Chris paused at the doorway, when he heard voices inside. Mr. Arawn was definitely there, so he raised his hand to knock. Then what the man was saying started to register.

"Jenkins won't be a problem."

There was a pause, as though the man were listening to some response, although Chris couldn't hear it.

"I have already made a choice for tonight. The young man who came with the cop to question Jenkins. He was brimming with potential."

Again the pause.

"I will call him. He will be there when the pack hunts. I must go. The hounds must be prepared."

Chris nearly panicked. Then he saw an open class door, and ducked inside the room. In the hall, he heard Mr. Arawn leave his classroom, locking the door behind him. When Chris worked up the nerve to poke his head out the door, he just barely caught a glimpse of the tall teacher as he went around the corner, heading for the study hall.

Chris was terrified. He didn't know what the man was talking about with 'packs' and 'hunts', but it scared him. But what could he do?

Mr. Arawn had mentioned a man who came with a cop to talk to Mark yesterday, Chris thought. Maybe, if he went to talk to the cop, *he* would know what to do.

Arawn sat at the table, facing the candles, concentrating on his task. The pack would be there. Now he needed their quarry. This was the first time he'd set them on a particular prey, rather than simply picking some poor unfortunate who'd been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Arawn closed his eyes, and pictured the prey in his mind. Then he reached out.

Blair fought the urge to close his eyes, since he wasn't sure that he'd be able to open them again if he did. The pile of tests on his desk didn't seem to be getting any smaller. In fact, the more he marked, the larger the pile of remaining tests seemed to get.

The building was silent, since anyone with sense had left for the night. The silence was almost eerie. Blair considered turning on the radio, just for the noise. Then he thought about just going home for the night. Jim would be waiting on him.

"Tired, little one?"

Blair blinked, wondering if he was hearing things. It felt like he had a headache coming on. He closed his eyes, and rubbed at his temples.

When he opened his eyes, he was standing in front of his car. He blinked for a moment, then laughed.

"Oookay. This is a sign that it is *definitely* time to go home for the evening."

Luckily, even though he didn't remember leaving his office, he did have his keys in his hand. He climbed into the Volvo, and started it up. Yeah, home was sounding *very* nice.

Chris was getting even more fidgety. He'd driven from the high school to the police department, and asked to speak to the cop who'd talked to Mark Jenkin's the day before. It had taken a while for them to decide that he wanted to see a Detective Jim Ellison, and now he'd been waiting for what seemed like forever for them to find the man.

"I'm Detective Ellison. You wanted to see me?"

Chris looked up at what had to be one of the biggest men he'd ever seen. He shot to his feet, and wiped his hand on his jeans before holding it out to shake hands. He felt completely dwarfed by the man.

"My name is Chris Morgan. I go to school with Mark Jenkins?"

The man's face went sad. "C'mon," he said, and led him towards the elevators.

They went up to the fifth or sixth floor, Chris wasn't noticing, and down the hall to a door marked "Major Crime". Inside, the room was half-empty. The detective led him to a desk along one wall, and pulled a chair over for him.

"Now, what about Mark Jenkins?"

Chris took a deep breath, then spilled everything he'd noticed. About Johnny, and the way he'd been looking the last couple of days. About the study group. About going to see Mr. Arawn, and what he'd heard.

When he'd finished, he was blushing. He knew that what he'd been saying sounded completely ridiculous. He was sure that the man was going to just laugh at him.

Detective Ellison didn't laugh. "He said that he was going to 'call' the man who was with me?"

Chris nodded, not trusting his voice anymore.

The detective picked up his phone, and hit a speed-dial number. He waited for a few minutes, then put down the phone. He repeated with two more speed-dial numbers. Each time there was no response, his face got grimmer.

He stood up, grabbing his coat, and headed for a door at the back of the room.

"Simon, there's a kid here from the school. He overheard Arawn saying something that implies he's involved in the killings, and that he plans on going after Blair. There's no answer at the loft, Blair's office or from his cell-phone. I'm heading for the university."

A black man, even bigger than the detective came out of the room. "I'll send someone to the loft, and alert the uniforms at the warehouse district."

Detective Ellison headed for the door, and Chris went after him. The man didn't notice until they reached the elevators.

"Chris, you'd better go home."

"No way!" Chris said, shaking his head emphatically. "Johnny's in trouble, and I'm going to help."

The man stared into his eyes, like he was trying to read his intentions. Chris stared back defiantly.

"All right," he finally said. "But you do *exactly* what I say, got it?"

"Yes, sir!"

Blair's attention was completely shot. He hadn't realized just how tired he was. Thankfully, he could drive the route from the university to the loft in his sleep, and he wasn't sure that he hadn't done just that on occasion.

Then he noticed his surroundings, and blinked in confusion. He wasn't anywhere near the loft. In fact, he was heading in the wrong direction completely. At the next lights, he signaled a turn.

Scratch that, he thought. For some reason, his hands didn't seem to be obeying him. He wanted to make a left turn, and head for Prospect, but the car went straight through. Something weird was going on. It was like something from some sort of surreal nightmare. Blair resisted the urge to start hyperventilating.

"Don't worry, little one. It will all be over soon."

Blair jumped, when he heard the voice. It was the same one he'd been hearing all day. He was starting to get panicked, now. He wasn't in control, and he realized now that the car was headed for the warehouse district. This is bad, he thought to himself. Really, *really* bad.

Jim pulled into the parking lot next to the anthropology building. At this time of the evening in December, there wasn't anyone to object to his parking there.

Luckily, it was still early enough in the evening that the doors were unlocked. He headed straight for Blair's office by the fastest route, long memorized. The door was open

Inside, he found the desk lamp still on, and test papers all over the desk top. Blair's knapsack was on the floor, with his laptop still in it. Jim pulled out his cell-phone and punched the speed-dial.

The knapsack started ringing.

Jim hit another speed-dial. "Simon," he said, as soon as his captain picked up. "He's not at his office, but he left it unlocked with all his things still here, including his computer, cell phone," Jim looked around, "and his coat. I don't think he left of his own free will."

"Any signs of a struggle?"

"No, but if someone came with a gun..."

"All right. There's no sign of any trouble at the loft, and the patrols at the warehouse district have been alerted."

"Good. I'm going to see if I can find his car."

"Keep me informed."

"Will do, Simon."

Back outside, Jim scanned the parking lot. He didn't see Blair's car in its usual spot, but there was a small pool of oil there. Jim looked at it, remembering that Blair had been complaining that the Volvo was leaking oil. He headed back to the truck and climbed behind the driver's seat.

He ignored Chris, focusing his sight on the traces of oil. Tracking the oil trail was difficult, but not impossible, especially for a man trained in tracking first by the US Army, then by Chopec Indians. Not to mention one with enhanced Sentinel senses.

It was quickly evident that the trail was leading towards the warehouse district. Jim increased his speed. This was *not* going to happen.

Blair stopped the Volvo and turned it off. He got out of the car, and walked a distance of about forty feet before the compulsion that had brought him this far disappeared, and he crumpled to the ground. He lay there, breathing heavily, fighting the panic that had been growing since he left his office.

Then he heard a howl, and sounds of movement. He pulled himself to his feet and turned towards his car.

Between him and the vehicle was a group of almost a dozen teens. Blair drew breath, realizing that they must be schoolmates of Mark Jenkins, but they weren't behaving like kids. They were behaving like animals, pacing back and forth, eyes focused on him. A couple made abortive moves in his direction, but something seemed to stop them

"Run, little one."

Blair started, and looked around. There was no one else there. "Who *are* you," he cried out in frustration.

"Run, little one, or the pack will rip you to shreds here."

Blair looked at the... pack. They were drifting in his direction. He stared at them for a moment, looking for any sign of intelligence in their eyes. There was none.

Blair ran.

Detective Ellison pulled the truck up next to an old car, and was out in a flash. Chris watched as the man examined the car, pulling out the cell-phone as he moved, probably calling the guy he'd been talking to before.

Then he stopped in his tracks, looking off into the distance. Chris rolled down the window, and heard what sounded like howling. Detective Ellison suddenly took off, heading deeper into the warehouse district.

Chris bit his lip, and considered his options. He'd said that he would do whatever the detective told him to, but he hadn't actually *told* Chris to stay in the truck, though he knew he was expected to. Going after the man could be dangerous, considering all the kids who'd been killed around here, but his gut told him that Johnny was out there, and he wanted to help his friend.

He heard another howl, and decided. He'd take his chances with the detective. Somehow, he figured that sticking with the detective was safer than staying here alone.

Chris got out of the truck and went after Detective Ellison, running as fast as he could.

Blair ran. Behind him he could hear the howling of the teens chasing him. No matter how had he tried, he couldn't seem to shake them. He was sweating hard, even though the night was cold and his coat had been left behind in his office, and his breathing was coming in short pants now.

Blair started praying, he wasn't sure to who. Praying that Jim would know something was wrong. Praying that he would show up in time. Sometimes it seemed like he had an extra sense that knew when Blair was in trouble, so he always seemed to show up just in the nick of time. Blair *really* wanted him to show up *now*.

As he ran, Blair paused to try doors, hoping that he'd find a building that wasn't locked. Inside, he might have a chance to find a hiding spot until Jim arrived. When one of the doors *did* open, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Inside, the area was almost pitch-black. The only light was from the full moon, shining through the broken windows. The smell of dust and garbage filled the air. It said that this warehouse had been long abandoned.

Blair stumbled over debris, as he moved deeper into the warehouse. When he got back to his feet, shooting pains went through his leg when he tried to put his weight on his left foot. Gritting his teeth, he kept moving. It didn't feel like he'd broken anything, just twisted the ankle.

"Having trouble, little one?"

Blair tried to turn, but fell again as his ankle gave way. In the moonlight, all he could see was an indistinct shape. The figure stepped forward, until his face was lit by a moonbeam, red hair looking faded to almost silver.

"Mr. Arawn?" Blair swallowed. This was not a good thing. Especially when the man's eyes looked like they were gleaming with a red light that was *not* natural.

"Ah, good. You recognize me. And do you also recognize my hounds?"

Blair's eyes darted around. The movements, and slight snuffling noises from the corners of the room finally caught his attention. He tried to get up, but this time, his ankle refused to hold his weight.

The... 'pack' moved closer, and Blair gulped.

"Oh, you are going to taste soooo sweet," Arawn said, following behind the apparently mindless students. The smile on the man's face was not reassuring.

Now would be a good time, Jim.

Jim followed the trail, although there wasn't much of one. If not for his hearing, he might have lost it completely, but the sound of his guide's heartbeat pounding with fear kept him going in the right direction.

As he followed, he tried to use his cell-phone to update Simon. He growled to himself when he couldn't get a dial-tone. The batteries were still charged and he'd used it to call the man from Blair's car but suddenly it wasn't working.

Blair was close now. Jim could hear him, along with others. Scanning the area, he saw that the door of one of the warehouses was ajar. He was heading for it when he realized that he wasn't alone.

"Chris," he hissed, angry at himself for not noticing sooner that the teen was following him. "You were supposed to stay at the truck."

"You didn't tell me to," the boy said, his face tightening into a stubborn expression that reminded Jim of Blair. "Johnny needs me. Besides," he added with a shrug, "I figured I was safer with you than staying at the truck by myself."

Jim was considering taking the kid back to the truck when he heard Arawn's voice from inside the warehouse. Realizing that there wasn't anytime left, he headed for the door.

"Stay *behind* me," he ordered. Chris nodded. He was obviously scared, but equally determined.

Jim headed for the door. From the sound of it there wasn't time to try to be subtle. Besides, Jim preferred the direct method anyway.

"Cascade PD! Freeze!"

For a moment, no one moved. Jim stood in the doorway, his eyes easily compensating for the dim light. Blair was on the ground, one hand gripping his ankle and pain in his expression. Spread around him in a loose circle were about a dozen students, but the kids were acting more like a pack of wild animals than a group of teenagers. At the far end of the room was the teacher, Arawn. Jim felt his stomach clench when he realized that the man's eyes were glowing red. Jim could accept heightened senses, since he didn't have much choice. He would even extend his beliefs to cover mystic trances, since he'd had a few himself. But this... this was getting ridiculous.

"Johnny?"

Chris's voice came from behind him. One of the kids turned briefly, but there was no other reaction. Several of the kids broke off from the rest and advanced on Jim and Chris.

Jim was torn. His guide was in danger. The kid behind him was in danger. *He* was in danger. But he couldn't bring himself to fire on unarmed kids who were obviously not in their right minds.

Arawn, though. Arawn was behind this whole mess. The man was fair game, Jim thought to himself as he pulled the trigger. In the enclosed space the sound of the gunshot echoed.

And Jim stared in disbelief as the bullet stopped dead, about a foot in front of the man, and dropped to ground.

Blair had felt one glorious moment of relief at the sound of Jim coming through the door, shouting his warning. That relief had disintegrated quickly when Jim had fired and the bullet had stopped dead. Arawn. Somehow, Arawn had been able to stop a bullet.

They were toast.

The 'Pack' had split into groups. Three of the kids converged on the boy who had come in behind Jim, quickly subduing him. One of them banged the kid's head against the wall, and he was down. Hopefully he was just unconscious. Hopefully, if they couldn't stop Arawn he would *stay* that way.

Several stayed focused on Blair, closing in on him. Once more, he tried to push himself to his feet. Once more, the pain shooting up from his ankle stopped him. Blair resisted the urge to whimper.

The rest, though, were focused on Jim. They circled in, snarling. Blair could see that Jim was confused, unable to decide what to do. The kids were obviously intent on killing him, but he couldn't bring himself to shoot them. After all, they were victims of Arawn too. He wouldn't want to harm them.

So what the hell were they supposed to do?

When Blair heard the growl, he didn't really notice it at first The kids were growling too. But there was something different about this one. Blair turned his head and found himself staring into the eyes of a blue-eyed timber wolf.

For long moments, the wolf's eyes seemed to bore into him. Despite the danger he was in, Blair couldn't seem to look away. Strangely enough, he could almost see through the animal, as if it weren't really there.

Blair tried to push himself up again, but a wave of weakness ran through him, as though all his strength were being drained away. Drained...

The wolf turned away and Blair collapsed. He watched as the snarling animal turned towards Arawn. The... man finally noticed the animal and went pale. He held up his hand and gestured, and a sickly red glow surrounded him. The wolf jumped at him, a howl filling the air and freezing everyone in their tracks.

As the wolf hit the glow, sparks flew. The shield -- that's what it looked like to Blair -- flickered, then disappeared. Jim shook off his paralysis and fired again.

This time, nothing stopped the bullet. Nothing except the man it was aimed at. With an expression of shock on his face, Arawn crumpled to the ground, bleeding from the chest wound. Jim fired twice more, just to be sure. At the same time, all the kids cried out, clutching their heads. They also collapsed.

"Chief! Are you all right?"

Jim was crouched next to him now, checking him out. Blair nodded, but his attention was on the wolf. It stood over Arawn's body, facing him. Blair could almost swear that the wolf had an expression of satisfaction on its face.

Then it winked and was gone.

"Chief?"

"I'm fine, Jim. My ankle, though. I think I broke it or something."

Jim ran his hands over Blair's ankle. "Nothing broken, but it's swelling up pretty bad. Probably sprained." He pulled out his cell-phone and called Simon to tell him where they were and to order several ambulances. He quickly checked the kid who'd come in with him, making sure he wasn't in danger, as well as the kids in the 'pack', who were all out cold. Then he pulled Blair against his chest, just holding him, and rested his cheek in Blair's hair. Blair relaxed, starting to feel warm again.

"Did you see that?" he mumbled, trying to fight the urge to fall asleep now that his adrenaline high was starting to fade.

"Yeah. There was some sort of weird glow around him, then it disappeared and I could shoot him. Just be quiet, Chief. Ambulance will be here soon."

"No... The wolf... Did you see the wolf?"

Blair felt Jim shake his head. "There was no wolf."

Blair wanted to argue -- explain what he saw -- but he didn't have the energy. Besides, he could already hear the sirens in the distance. It could wait.

Jim wandered around, watching the kids being loaded into the fleet of ambulances. In the background, he could hear Sandburg telling Simon about what happened. He had quickly recovered from the exhaustion that had gripped him while they were waiting.

By mutual decision, they decided to leave out the wilder elements of what happened. Instead, they just said that Arawn had been controlling the kids by some method not yet understood. He had kidnapped Blair, and Jim had tracked them down. Jim had shot him, and that was that. No glowing eyes or bullets falling out of the air. Simon might accept the concept of Sentinels, but asking him to believe *this* would be asking too much.

Several of the kids had already woken up, groggy and disoriented. They didn't remember a thing, and their confusion was obvious. Hopefully, they wouldn't end up in trouble. Jim smiled at Chris, who was being checked over by one of the paramedics. He had a tight grip on the hand of one of the other kids, who was just waking up. He smiled back at Jim, but didn't let go of his friend's hand. Both of them were loaded into the same ambulance.

Jim headed over to rescue Simon from Blair, who was descending into lecture mode. The paramedics had wrapped his ankle and he was sitting in the passenger seat of one of the patrol cars, talking through the open door.

"So Arawn was the Welsh god of the underworld, and was associated with the Wild Hunt. In the older versions of the story, the Wild Hunt was a pack of red-eared hounds, and they were pursuing a white stag. Other European mythologies had similar tales of a hunt, with varying quarries. Sometimes it's a stag, sometimes a woman. But they weren't necessarily sinister, just something to keep out of the way of. Then Christianity moved in and the hunt was turned into demons that hunted humans, something to be feared. Something, of course, which the Church could protect them from. That was the way Christianity converted a lot of pagan societies, by taking their own beliefs and twisting them into something that they could control."

"So what are you saying, Sandburg?" Simon broke in. "That this guy was some sort of god who decided to used Cascade as his hunting ground?" Jim smiled. Simon's words were derisive, but the way he said it was more fond-exasperated. Sometimes it amazed *both* of them just how much trivia there was locked in the grad student's head.

"Of course not! But he might have *chosen* the name because of the significance. After all, the kids were sort of equivalent to the hounds of the Wild Hunt. Uh, what's going to happen to them?" Sandburg finally asked. "I mean, they weren't really at fault here. You saw them."

"I saw," Simon said patiently. "And the courts will be told. They'll all be talked to by psychiatrists while they're at the hospital. I doubt any of them will be tried."

"Besides, Chief, even if they were, the fact that they were being controlled by Arawn means they'd probably just get parole, at the worst. Records purged when they hit eighteen."

"Right," Simon said. "Listen, why don't the two of you head home. I think we've got enough cops here to deal with this. Just make sure that you show up tomorrow to fill out the reports."

"Will do, Simon," Jim said, heading for where he'd parked the truck. "Back to pick you up in a sec, Chief. And Simon? Could you have someone drop Blair's car off at the PD? He can pick it up tomorrow."

Simon gave an irritated wave. Jim decided to assume that it was an affirmative.

By the time they got home, Blair was starting to crash again, physically and mentally. Parking the truck, Jim took a look at his companion. Blair was shivering, due in part to the temperature, and he was wet and bruised. His ankle had been wrapped up tight by the paramedics who had arrived to collect the kids. Jim watched him limp for all of about two seconds before moving to pick him up.

"You know, Jim, I mastered the art of walking some time ago," Blair said. He was teasing though. Instead of trying to pull away, he put his arms around Jim's neck and hung on.

"I'm sure you did," Jim teased back. "But I'd like to get upstairs before dawn. Oof. You put on some weight, Chief?"

"Hah, hah. Just don't ever expect me to do this for *you*, mister man of steel."

Actually, it didn't take long at all to get upstairs. At that time of night there wasn't anyone else needing the elevator. Inside, Jim headed straight for the stairs to the loft area.

"Jim! I wanted to get clean first." Jim shook his head.

"It's late and we're both exhausted. It can wait 'til morning. Besides, you can't stand in the shower right now, and you'd have to take the bandages off and put them back on if you take a bath."

"But..."

"Tell you what," Jim said with a leer. "Wait until morning and I'll give you a sponge bath when we wake up."

"Ooooh..." Blair said, heart-rate and temperature going up. Sponge baths were a very sensual experience for them, no matter who was giving or receiving. "You've got yourself a deal."

Jim quickly and efficiently stripped the young man, then gave him a rough toweling that dried him off *and* warmed him up at the same time. Then he dressed Blair in his pajamas, like an over-sized doll, and tucked him under the covers. He considered making a pot of tea, but Blair didn't look like he would last long enough to drink it. Instead, he got undressed himself and slipped in next to his lover.

Blair was asleep almost immediately. Jim propped himself up on one elbow to watch. Blair was curled up on his side, completely limp like a sleeping puppy. Jim ran a hand through the curly hair.

He could have lost Blair. He almost did lose him tonight. If the kid, Chris, hadn't overheard Arawn talking and come to the PD to find him, he wouldn't have known until it was too late. He owed the kid a lot.

Of course there was one question left unanswered. Who *did* Chris hear Arawn talking to? Jim wanted very much to believe that it was all over.

But deep inside, he didn't.

Blair looked around the forest glade, admiring the detail. It was a spot that he and Jim enjoyed camping at. For a dream, it was amazingly true to life. He wasn't sure *how* he knew it was a dream, but he did. A form of lucid dreaming, perhaps?

A low noise interrupted his musings, and when he turned around he realized that he wasn't alone in the glade anymore. Instead, he had been joined by a wolf. Blair stared at it... *him* for a moment.

"You're the one who stopped Arawn tonight," he finally said. "Thank you."

//You're welcome, kiddo.//

Blair jumped at the amused voice. It sounded familiar. *Very* familiar.

Then the wolf started to morph, like something out of a science fiction movie. One moment Blair was looking at a four-footed animal, the next he was looking at... himself.

"Who are you?" he asked his double. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he should be afraid.

"Your first teacher," was the reply in his own voice. "Time to crack the books, kiddo."
 

THE END
 

On their street, on their strip
No one's ever free from their grip
You were weak, they were strong
An offer of security, a place to belong
Every now and then you'd hear a siren scream
Not exactly something from your mother's dream

They made plans, they made deals
Marked with their indelible seal
Every day, every night
You felt their mission about to ignite
Never could convince yourself there's nothing there
Now the holy face of terror is the one you wear

Another member of the lost brotherhood
You stumbled in the wrong neighbourhood
Swore you'd never become one
Now you find that you're one for good

No escape, no choice
Lost yourself to the power of their voice
You don't hear, you don't see
Your mind's a blank and you
Let it all be
Once upon a time I knew another you
Something must have happened
'Cause they've broken through
They're your blood, they're your kin
They're in your soul like original sin
You've got them, they've got you
And nothing's ever going to come between the two
Ain't it so ironic how it all works out
Isn't this what brotherhood
Is all about?

Another member of the lost brotherhood
You stumbled in the wrong neighbourhood
Swore you'd never become one
Now you find that you're one for good

Lost Brotherhood
(Lawrence Gowan)