"Sadie."

She'd been nearly asleep when Tisper reached out and batted her on the shoulder.

Sadie opened her eyes to that pretty face on the pillow across from her, lashes long and shadowy in the moonlight. "I can't sleep," Tisper said.

Sadie sighed and sat up to look at the others. Matt still snored soundly into his pillow, and Alex was no longer curled up in his little ball, but splayed out comatose over his mattress. Her spine ached from sleeping on the hard floor.

She rubbed her eyes and let her sleep escape in a yawn. "Still thinking about him?"

"Yes," Tisper simpered. She kicked at her sheets like a child and twisted over face-first into her pillow. Whatever she said then was too muffled to understand, but Sadie deciphered it as something like it's not fair.

"Just tell him you like him so I can sleep," said Sadie. "I'll tell him for you, what's his number?"

But by the time she'd found her phone in the darkness, Tisper had already snatched it from her hands. "He already knows."

"Good, then go." Sadie pressed her face into her pillow and waved Tisper away. "Go climb in his bed and get it over with."

"Sadie, come on. I need your help."

"Fine. How old's he anyway?"

"How old is Quentin?" Tisper asked.

"Five older than Jay."

"Which makes him..."

"Twenty-six," said Sadie.

She could see the gears churning in Tisper's head. The lanky woman turned over onto her back and gazed mindlessly at the ceiling. "Twenty-nine."

"Twenty-nine?" Sadie balked. "He's nearly thirty!"

"I know the difference between twenty-nine and thirty," Tisper hissed back.

Matt made a sudden sound in his sleep and Sadie lowered her voice to keep from waking him. "He's seven years older than you."

"He doesn't look thirty," Tisper said, as if that was any consolation. "Plus he's a werewolf. Aren't they all in their mid twenties for like... ever."

As beautiful as the wolves tended to be, they definitely weren't gifted eternal youth. But in all honesty, Felix didn't look thirty. On the other hand, Sadie had never seen beyond the scruff of his beard. If he ever shaved it, he waited weeks for the shadow to grow before he let anyone see. It was strange, because Quentin's beard grew with time disappeared over night. But Felix's beard always stayed the same. Just long enough to hide away in.

"Maybe he trims it..." Sadie muttered aloud.

Tisper gave her an odd look. "What?"

"Doesn't matter. Does he liked you back?"

Tisper wiped a palm up her forehead, into her pool of long black hair. "I don't know. To be honest, I don't want to even consider that he might." Sadie knew exactly why. She was a victim of high hopes too. On the very likely chance they were crushed, it was wound that didn't sew itself back up so easily. Kat was a bitter, lingering, stinging proof of that.

That was when Matt launched from his sleep with a cry. He gripped at his shoulder, a strange tremor in his hand, and staggered out of bed. Sadie turned over onto her knees and watched him hurry to the window.

"Matt, what's going on?"

"Someone's here," he said, spreading the blinds to take a peek. Then he shoved Alex awake from his sleep and stepped between Sadie and Tisper's makeshift beds toward the door. Sadie pulled the sheathed stone sword from beneath her pillow and hurried to her feet. 

She couldn't explain why she felt she needed the small weapon in hand, but she'd grown comfortable with the security of it. It was almost like she was a child again—dragging her filthy teddy bear along the suburban streets. Whatever the reason, she hated to leave the weapon unattended, so she held the sword to her heart and they followed him out, Alex drowsily slipping out of bed to trail behind.

By the time they'd reached the living room, every wolf in the house was lined up like a militia on the front lawn. The groan of engines stormed outside and Sadie had to squeeze herself between Yui and a tall blonde sentinel to get a look.

An SUV had been parked inside of the gate—which had been forced inward, off of its metal track. The headlights glared over the gravel, dust billowing in their lowering light.

A pack of men lingered around the car, hunched over by the hood, slouched around the side doors. They were only black masses in the cover of the SUV's brights, but the most prominent of them stood out in front. He was a handsome man, his hair a peppered gray, his face square, his eyes soft. Something about his smile was comfortable, but Sadie supposed that all venomous things were pretty, one way or another.

Imani was squared off with the stranger, donned in the kind of silk nightgown that showed every curve of skin below. Sadie couldn't imagine anyone looking more threatening in lingerie than Imani did.

"I've always known rogues to be moronic creatures," she was saying, "but this is the dumbest thing you've done yet, Gannon. There are thirty-two wolves in this house, five of us alphas. You've interrupted the beauty sleep of over a dozen fine young sentinels, and you expect to leave here with all ten fingers?"

"See, that's where it gets tricky," the man named Gannon said. "These aren't your wolves. In fact, I don't see a single one of your wolves here, Imani. Where's your sheriff?" he asked. "She's a beauty, that one." He moved closer to meet her, and as he did, Imani's lip curled into somewhat of a vicious snarl.

"As for the alpha that does own these wolves," Gannon began, "I heard he's about to croak."

Imani didn't flinch to that. If anything, she looked bored. "What do you want, Gannon?"

"The coy," said Gannon.

"What?"

"Me." Bailey moved out of the shadows, into the headlight's beam. Dust from the ground filled the light like scattered smoke.

Gannon took his eyes off of Imani, and they set on Bailey with a hunger. "Rico wants his money, Bailey. I want the money."

"Tough shit," said Bailey. "It's gone."

Gannon gave a sharp laugh. It clapped like thunder into the night. "Gone?"

"Lost it in the fire," Bailey said.

Gannon reached out fast, hooked Bailey in by a fistful of his shirt. Sadie caught sight of Jaylin's calculative stare from the porch lighting. "Rico gave you two options. The money you stole, or you. We both know that's not want you want."

Bailey rolled his head back to avoid the strangle of his shirt collar. "I don't have the money."

"Then I don't have much of an option," Gannon said.

One moment, Imani was paces away. The next, she was pressed between the two men, her pewter claw jabbed up hard against the space beneath Gannon's chin. 

"So long as Bronx is ill, these wolves are mine," Imani said, pressing to him harder, filling the empty space between them. "If Rico has an issue with that, do him a true favor, Gannon. Find him a pair of balls for which he can summon the courage it takes to face a woman like me. I'll make sure he limps his way home alright."

Gannon's grip lessened and Bailey staggered safely out of reach. 

"You're not usually such a quick trigger, Imani." Gannon read her without lowering his chin to the ring. Only his eyes moved, searching something buried deep between the lines. "Bronx really is dying, isn't he?" The faux kindness in those eyes died out when they flickered to the house. Something about the way he sought what was beyond those doors made Sadie's stomach twist. "Shame, he was my favorite."

That claw on Imani's knuckle went suddenly deeper. "Keep talking," she said. "I'd love to put a hole in you."

Gannon raised his hands in surrender and stepped back slowly, away from Imani's claw. He wiped at that spot beneath his chin and a faint smear of blood ran along his knuckles. 

"We aren't leaving the Den until Rico gets his money," Gannon said. "I've got all the time in the world."

"Good." Bailey looked stony, not a shiver of bother in him. "You can use it to get fucked."

Gannon's eyes crawled along Bailey in a wicked way, searching him like he was painting an image in mind. One he could print it up later and use it for target practice. 

When he was satisfied, he looked to Imani and bowed lamely in her honor. "Always a pleasure."

One by one, he and his men gathered back into the SUV and carried on through the broken gate. Outside, the mailbox lay toppled, mail strewn about the yard by wind or by hand, Sadie couldn't tell. Either way, Gannon knew Imani would send him away before he got his hands on Bailey. This wasn't anything more than a threat.

Something must have caught Imani's eye, because she moved toward the busted gate and crouched to retrieve a black envelope that had been crushed beneath the tires of the SUV. She drew a produced paper from its contents.

"Imani," Acadia urged her. "What is it? What've those little bastards done?"

"Nothing," said Imani. "It's from the queen." The crowd fell quiet as Imani finished her reading. Then she folded her note and wedged it back into the envelope. "Qamar's requested your presence at the council hall."

"All of us?" asked a wolf Sadie didn't know. She'd seen her the day before, dusting cobwebs from the ceiling, but never asked her name.

Imani moved toward them, tucking the envelope into Sadie's hands as she passed. "No," she said. "Only the humans."

Aster was so pretty. Everything from the way her lips glossed in the sunlight to the long, willowy bundles of hair, she'd pinned up on her head.

Sadie recalled the card she'd chosen for Alex and frowned. Lovers. She'd never once in her life pulled that card for herself.

"I don't like flying," Aster said, tilting her head to look around the cabin of the plane. "Too many people. We weren't made to fly, Sadie."

"A few times from place to place and you get used to it."

But Sadie had to admit, it felt strange without Jaylin, and Tisper tagging along. Jaylin hadn't been invited, according to Qamar's letter—strictly humans. Strictly. And Jaylin wasn't so human anymore.

Tisper had originally planned to come, but Imani decided that it was smarted to send a pair of witches along. Devi had earned the wolves' loyalty over her years of service and Aster brought a cool air with her where ever she went, so they'd picked up their still-packed bags and called a cab to the airport, first thing in the morning. It was just Sadie, Alex and Matt—who'd been to and from the bathroom too many times to count, sick from the turbulence and too many free mimosas. Meanwhile, Alex was crushed like a bug between a large man and the plane windows and Sadie was having a difficult time deciding whether she should laugh or feel terrible for them.

"When is this thing going to land?" asked Aster. "Colorado can't be too far away."

"Why are we going to Colorado again?" Sadie asked. "And what the hell is in Boulder anyway?"

"It's a goldmine for spiritual energy," said Aster. "But I don't know if those things matter to Qamar."

"You probably don't know anymore about the queens than I do."

"I've heard stories. Folklore, you know. Like, for instance, there was really only meant to be one queen. When Ziya was born, she was without a heart. So half of Qamar's heart was taken out and put into Ziya. That's how the story goes, anyway."

"That would be sweet," Sadie mused. "If Ziya wasn't such a bitch."

"They say it's because they only have half a heart that the queens can't turn into wolves."

"They can't?"

"Nope," said Aster. "That's one thing I'm definite about. Unlike the queens before them, Ziya and Qamar have never had the ability to turn."

But before Sadie could ask another question on the matter, Aster went green. She reached forward and popped open a paper bag just in time to empty her stomach. 

Boulder couldn't come soon enough.

It was nearly six in the evening when the plain landed in Colorado. They were driven by taxi to a building in the stony, tree-less mountainside, and by the time the car stopped in front of large wrought iron gate, the sun had set over the mountain peaks. Boulder was a strange place—like one big footprint in the center of the earth. The soil almost seemed to shiver beneath Sadie's feet.

After a moment of wait, those iron doors rolled inward, and they followed Devi up a long, winding path to the mosaic, stone-shrouded mansion above. It was a fitting place for Qamar—every bit like a modern day castle. Towers of rooms shown down on the valley through bay windows, every sheet of glass shimmering inside with warm candle light. Occasionally a shadow would pass by the upstairs windows and a shiver would wiggle down Sadie's spine.

It was a magical place, but a fitting setting for a murder mystery.

Sadie eyed the gargoyle mold on the church-style front door, and eventually Devi was the one to reach for the hook in its mouth and give the door a hard knock.

"Stand straight," she said. "Look soft. Qamar might treat us with civility compared to her sister, but we are still the sheep walking into a wolf's den."

Sadie looked to the boys behind her, but their eyes held no more security than her own.

When the door opened, it was not Qamar who answered, but a dark man with a critical stare. His eyes roamed, assessing each of them like he was tacking off the boxes in his head.

Old lady - check.

Black lesbian - check.

A couple of blonds and a guy who's definitely wearing his shirt backwards and hasn't realized it - check.

When he was finished analyzing them all, the man said not a word, but shoved the door open and led them into the home.

It had to of been an old building. The chandeliers held wax candles that flickered and coated the walls in waggling shadows. But just like outside, the inners of the home looked so much like a castle, Sadie felt her knees go weak.

This place was her childhood re-imagined. All of those fairytales she'd been told of as a child—the ones where she always fell in love with the princess, who always fell in love with the prince. Those stories happened here. In the high, stone-structured arches, and the beautiful black chiseled slate beneath her feet.

Alex had to drag her out of the foyer by the wrist before the others had carried on without her.

In the next room over, Qamar stood beside that lover of hers—the one with the sharp black haircut and the crooked smile. They were dressed immaculately, but the longer Sadie took a gander around, the more she realized that everyone here was well-dressed. A real life Beauty and the Beast realm, only there were too many Beasts to count. They lounged about on the steps of a winding staircase. Some watched from the threshold of doors. Others spied from the upstairs banister, the women in black dresses and the men in button-down shirts and creased slacks.

Qamar stepped forward to meet them and Sadie wondered just how much the black blouse she wore must of cost. If the jewels on it were real, and just how did you wash a blouse with zirconia crystals sewn into the hem?

"My wolves aren't used to witches," Qamar explained. And when she snapped her finger, every pair of eyes that had adhered themselves to Sadie, seemed to vanish. The wolves on the banister scattered, the ones in the doorways ducked away, and the ones lingered on the stairs, hurried up the steps with quick strides.

They were all gone, vacated in seconds.

"Qamar," Devi began, wandering forward a step.

Before she could speak, Qamar held out a hand.

"I did not ask you here to give you all a solution." Sadie felt a nervous lump sit in her throat. A solution was the whole reason they'd come. "Ziya has made it clear she doesn't wish to find level ground—so I don't wish to try any longer. I asked you here as a favor."

Matt looked nervous. Something small in him seemed to crack. "The hell do you want us to do?"

"Ziya can not be harmed by my wolves or myself," Qamar said. "There must be a way to stop my sister, but to send my wolves in would be suicide."

"And what of the lichund?" asked Devi. "The little beast wouldn't fare well against the queen?"

"He'd die," said Qamar. "Perhaps not so quickly. But even a lichund can be cut open with the right tools. Regardless, he'd die by bite."

"But come on," Matt said. Sadie couldn't help but notice he was gripping that shoulder again. "I've seen Jay turn. He could tear her up if he wanted."

Qamar considered him for a quiet moment, then turned to the man beside her. "Dex," she said. "Bring me a pairing knife from the kitchen, will you?"

Her lover hesitated there. Sadie could confess he was a stunning man. Hair black as a raven, eyes blue as sapphire stones. A tattoo of something peaked up just over his shirt collar and danced a bit when his neck moved with a strain and a swallow. "Qamar," he protested.

"Dexter," she said again. "Bring me the knife."

The Dexter man did nothing to hide his displeasure. He turned and carried himself out of the room, his footsteps barreling about the walls in echoes that muddled the ears.

"Now, come with me," Qamar said.

They followed her in one small, uncertain mass, through a corridor of private rooms. Each held a name on a silver plaque beside the door—names of the wolves who lived within her den, Sadie assumed. She wondered what these wolves were used for and why they lived within Qamar's walls. Were they for her own protection?

Sadie hadn't noticed they'd all stopped walking until she bumped right into Matt's back. Before her was a hulking pair of stained-glass doors. In the middle of the glass, two wolves twisted together affectionately at the neck—each shadow and shade of them built from a different color. It was a stunning image, but gone too soon. Qamar pushed the door open and the air suddenly smelled of fine wood and old paper.

Beside Sadie, Alex inhaled a gasp.

The library they'd stepped into was a grand thing—leather spines filling in the walls like bricks without mortar. They didn't seem to be organized a bit, and Sadie couldn't find a single title on the spines. Some of them were so ancient, she could make out the creases in the leather where the books had been bent backward for easy reading. Some were stained, some looked burnt even. Others looked as if they'd been bound just yesterday.

She passed by a small side table where one of the books had been left open—pages spread up to the chandelier above. Pages clean and white and barren of any words at all.

"This is it," Alex whispered. "The archives."

Aster floated about the nearest shelf, running her fingers along all the time-worn leather. "These aren't... really books, are they?"

"Some of them literature," Qamar said. "Written by wolves, about wolves. Some of them were written by witches, like yourself. Most of them are journals. Proof of our existence. Documents, investigations. Things we can't allow out into the public."

"But didn't Quen used to write in a journal?" Sadie asked. "One he kept in the library."

Qamar found her eyes and something about the way they cut bone-deep made her wish she hadn't said it.

"Did he?" Qamar asked.

"Uh—no," said Alex. "Just recipes. Recipes are allowed, right? Homeopathy and herbs and—and all that."

Qamar hummed. She moved toward a discolored shelf on the wall and took from it a large book, but too thin to hold many pages. The cover slid back over the rings on the spine and she passed it off to Sadie. Each page was hand-written, little scrawls of diagrams and scribbled notes cluttering the margins. "Do you mean these?"

"Yeah," Alex said. "That's it."

"These kind of journals were made public years ago," Qamar explained. "Our wolves must have access to these things. I'm not concerned about those."

 Sadie sucked in an air of relief. Jesus, if she'd gotten Quentin in trouble when he was already dying... 

"If it is too important to trust within the reach of humans, we use dry-fade ink," Qamar went on to explain. "None of our documents are to ever touch a hard-drive."

"How the hell did you get all these?" Matt asked, gaping at the sheer abundance of books. "These look like real leather."

"Some of them are hundreds of years old," said Qamar. "Ziya and I share a life-line. We're connected in ways you can't imagine, but we share too many differences to count. Ziya doesn't care for these things. She doesn't care for our mother's laws about protecting the sanctity of our people. So I was given the library that once belonged to the queens before me. I'm sure Ziya's documents are kept in a computer database." She made a sound of disgust.  "Mother would turn in her grave if she knew."

Then the stained glass doors heaved open and Dexter stepped inside, a small pairing knife between his fingers. Begrudgingly, he handed it off to Qamar, and exited again in stride.

Qamar watched him leave with a fury, and once he was gone, she ran a finger along the dull side of the blade. "There is one challenge that comes with facing my sister. You could kill every wolf, every man she throws your way. But when it comes to killing Ziya...."

Qamar reached for the hem of her skirt and up to her thigh. Sadie watched in horror as she slid the blade along her flesh. Deep. Half-way to the hilt.

A sharp gasp came from Aster, but it was such a strange thing to see, Sadie couldn't look away. She watched the blood well from the wound Qamar had made, but by the time she'd had reached the other side of her leg with the knife, the wound was closing. The blood slipped back into her flesh, the skin mended. Within no more than four seconds, the deep wound she'd made had healed itself to clean flesh. Not a scar was left on her skin.

Qamar reached for the table beside her and set the blade down on the face of an old book.

"My wolves can not kill Ziya," she said. "I can not kill Ziya. A fight to the death with my sister would last us an eternity. That's why I've asked you here." Sadie hated the feel of Qamar's eyes. They slid over each face in the room independently of one another. Something about it made her feel inadequate. "If there is a way to destroy my sister, it exists within this room."

"Wait a minute," Matt said. "You want us to stop Ziya?"

"No. Stopping her did us no favors last time. I want her dead."

"Why not the wolves?" asked Alex. "You say a bite will kill them—fine, then. Maybe guns or—or some kind of noxious gas. Explosives or something. They're way stronger and way faster than we are."

"It's not only the poison, boy," Devi explained this time. "Ziya can control any wolf within her vicinity. They're worthless against her."

"The witch is correct," Qamar said. "You and your friends are my only option."

Alex crossed his arms with a scowl. "Hold on just a second. We never agreed to this."

Qamar was small—smaller than all of them. But when she moved toward Alex, it was like a shadow overtaking the earth. "Do you want to know what happens if Ziya is not stopped? Do you recall the hunters? Did you forget about your friend?" Alex slumped back, crumbled by the weight of her eyes and the heavy sound of her voice. "Do you care about your dying alpha?"

"Yes," Alex said. "Of course I—"

Sadie interrupted, "You're saying we can help him?"

Qamar eased back, her long black hair sliding over her shoulders like wet silk. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

Matt frowned and re-adjusted the cap on his head. "You said yourself a single bite is suicide. Bronx already has the blood in him."

Qamar took the pairing knife into her hands again. When she turned it upside down, a bead of blood rolled down to the tip. ""Kill the queen," she said, "and her blood is as good as water."

Then the drop fell.