Chapter 67: Gone

Dennis's apartment building was as normal and average as the city itself. Nothing sleazy or spectacular. Nothing historical or postmodern. Just an unassuming, well-kept building.

According to the tenant list, Dennis was using his real name. Buffy buzzed his apartment from the building vestibule. When no one answered after the second one, She was about to find another way in when a tenant held the door open for them. Buffy thought she'd mistaken them for neighbors, but as they walked into the lobby, she asked who they were there to visit. Buffy said Dennis. She didn't know him, and seemed faintly embarrassed by that, as if she should.

Clay knocked on Dennis's door. At a second knock, a neighbor's door opened. An elderly woman with bushy white hair and huge glasses peered out, blinking like a wizen-faced snowy owl.

"Sorry," Dawn said. "We didn't mean to disturb—"

"Are you looking for Dennis?"

"Yes, we're friends of—" Buffy said.

"He's not there. Been gone awhile." She eased out the door, gripping her housecoat around her plump body. "Dennis isn't the sort to make his presence known, not like some people—" A glare at the door across the hall. "—but I usually see him every day. He brings up my mail and asks if I need anything when he goes out."

"And he hasn't been by lately." Buffy spoke slowly, waiting to be interrupted again, but when she finished, the woman only blinked at her. "He's been away a few days?"

"Oh, no, dear. More than that. He's always going off for a day or two. This time it's been close on a week."

Dawn and Buffy felt Clay shift between them. He didn't like that answer.

"So, Dennis doesn't usually—" Dawn began.

"You should speak to Charles. He's worried about him, too."

"Charles?" Buffy asked.

"The landlord. Here, I'll take you to his office."

Buffy said that wasn't necessary—they'd find it—but she insisted, toddling down the hall in huge polar-bear-paw slippers. As they took the elevator, she asked me questions—where they were from, what they did for a living, did they have any children? Buffy and Dawn answered honestly.

Savannah and Clay kept quiet as they walked. The landlord wasn't in his office. They found him in the front foyer, changing one of the tenant names on the list. The old lady—Lila—introduced them, then got her mail and scuttled off to read her new copy of People.

Charles the landlord appeared to be only a few years older than Savannah, possibly in his early twenties.

"Yep, been almost a week, like Lila said." He pasted the new tenant's name in place. "Place like this, we get mostly good folk. Dennis is one of the best. Pays his rent in advance, never calls me in the middle of the night for a plugged toilet, does his own repairs, even helped me paint last fall when the student I hired didn't show."

He ushered Savannah, Clay, Buffy and Dawn back inside. "I don't see Dennis every day, like Lila, but we usually bump into each other a few times a week. We stop and chat, then he'll come over to my place, and the wife makes him coffee." Charles chuckled. "The wife hardly ever makes me coffee, so that's a sure sign she likes him."

"It's been quite a while since we've seen Dennis," Buffy said as he peeled a SpongeBob sticker off the wall, "so we don't know him that well. He was a friend of my brother-in-law's dad when Dennis lived back east."

Charles picked at the glue left on the wall. "Whereabouts back east?"

"At the time, it was New York State," Dawn said carefully, thinking they were being tested—and not knowing whether Dennis had told the truth.

Charles laughed, making me jump. "I knew it. I knew it. The wife and I have ten bucks riding on this, trying to guess by the accent. I said New York; she said New Jersey. I wanted to ask, but she thought that was prying." He glanced at Clay. "You friends with Joseph?"

It took a moment for Clay to connect Joseph to Joey. "When we were kids. We lost touch after they moved."

"So, we don't have his address," Buffy said. "Or we'd stop there and ask."

"Damn. I hoped you did."

"Does he come by often?" Dawn asked.

Charles snorted and started picking at another sticker. "I've been here three years and I've seen him only a few times. It's not right. His dad's a great guy. He's always talking about his son, and the guy can't bother coming to visit? Not right."

"Do you have any idea where Dennis might be?" Buffy asked. "Lila said he takes off a lot."

"He's got a cabin about thirty miles south. Usually he goes there for a few days a month. Sometimes longer, but when it's that long, he tells me, so I can collect his mail. He could be there, though. That's what I figure. Got himself snowed in."

Dawn must have looked alarmed, because Charles laughed. "That's not cause to call 911 out here. If you have a backwoods place like Dennis's, you're prepared. Weather turns bad, you just hole up and ride it out, enjoy the peace and quiet. There aren't any phones out there, but Dennis has a sled. He could get out if he needed to."

"Sled?" Savannah pictured a dog team, which really wouldn't work for a werewolf.

"Snowmobile. But while I'm sure he's fine, I am getting a little worried. I wanted to run out there and check, but the wife said I should leave him be." He grinned at Clay. "The last time I went, I spent the day ice fishing with Dennis, had a few beers, and stayed the night, couldn't call and tell her… Wives get a little funny about stuff like that."

"We could drive up and check on him, if you have an address," Buffy said.

Buffy expected him to refuse. After all, they were strangers. But he said, "I wouldn't quite call it an address. There's no mail delivery out there. The road stops about a half mile from the cabin. What I have are directions and coordinates. It's rough country, though. What are you driving?"

"An SUV with a GPS unit," Dawn said.

"Perfect. Let me give you—" He reached into his back pocket, swore and shook his head. "The wife convinces me I need a PDA for work and where is it? With her, for her grocery list. Can I call you with it when she gets back?"

"Sure." Dawn gave him her cell number.

Next stop: Reese's motel. You'd think a guy using stolen credit cards would be living large, but this place—like the last motel Buffy and Dawn found him in—was the kind you see advertised on the highway for thirty bucks a night, wonder how it can be so cheap, then decide you'd really rather not find out.

The motel was in a part of town with a drunk on every corner. A big sign out front announced a prerace visitors' special for the Iditarod. This year's race had left Anchorage two weeks ago.

Buffy told the clerk they were supposed to meet a friend, but didn't know his room number, and he gave it to her. He'd probably have given her the key, too, if she asked nicely. In a place like this, no one wants to know why you're looking for a guy—they just want you to leave them out of it.

While Buffy and Dawn went to Reese's door, Savannah and Clay headed around back. They were supposed to guard the rear window, in case Reese bolted when the sisters knocked, but they returned before they got the chance.

"Window's too small," he said.

Dawn lifted her hand to knock. Buffy shook her head as she stopped her sister. She motioned to Clay and the door handle. Clay grabbed it and gave a sharp twist. When he pushed it open, unencumbered by bolt or chain, they knew what they'd find—an empty room. Savannah and Clay shouldered past Buffy and Dawn and strode into the bathroom.

"Gone," Clay and Savannah said simultaneously.

"Meaning we're stuck on stakeout duty until he comes back." Buffy said, when they'd approached the door, they'd left a scent trail that would have Reese bolting the second he got within sniffing distance.

"I saw a coffee shop across the road," Clay said. "Savannah and I'll go stand watch from there, while you two check the place out."

There was nothing to check out. Reese traveled ultralight—un-scented deodorant, toothbrush and a single change of clothing.

So, Dawn and Buffy joined Savannah and Clay and let them know what they found. "You think you two will be alright here for an hour?" Dawn asked. "We want to stop by the newspaper."

"Yeah, Savannah and I'll watch for the kid. If he shows up, I'll have Savannah teleport to you."

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

When Buffy and Dawn walked into the newspaper office, the receptionist was on the phone. They snuck around the potted plants and into the back hall. Then a guy with bristly red hair and a neon green tie stepped from an office, saw them and stopped. He gave the sisters a once-over and straightened his tie.

"Can I help you?" he asked, with a look that said he hoped he could.

"Dawn Michaels, Canadian Press. And this is my sister and partner Buffy Michaels." Dawn said as she showed him her old card from Toronto and hoped that he didn't know about or remember the car crash they had staged when they moved back to Stonehaven. He didn't look at the card or seem to recognize their names "We're on vacation in Anchorage and someone mentioned the possible wolf attacks you've had. We were wondering if we might speak to Ms. Hirsch about her articles. It's a subject our readers would be very interested in."

He listened to Dawn's spiel and nodded appropriately. They walked as he asked where they were from, how long they were staying, what they'd seen of Alaska so far … Buffy and Dawn could have sworn they passed the same set of bathrooms three times before, on the fourth, they nearly collided with a man coming out.

Their guide—Garth—stopped and introduced them to the editor, saying they were visiting journalists. Buffy and Dawn were shaking hands when a woman came out of the ladies bathroom down the hall. She glanced their way. Garth called, "Mallory!" and waved her over as the editor left.

From the end of the hall, Mallory Hirsch could pass for late twenties, with short blond hair, a trim figure and stylish suit. But with each step their way, she gained a few years. By the time she reached them, Buffy and Dawn pegged her at early forties.

"Yes?" she said, her voice as tight as her skin. Her gaze slid over the sisters, taking in their ski jacket, hiking boots and jeans with disapproval.

"This is Dawn and Buffy Michaels," Garth said. "They work for the Canadian press."

"Canadian Press," Dawn said. "It's like Associated Press, only much, much smaller."

Garth laughed, too loud for the mild joke. Mallory's expression didn't flicker.

Dawn repeated her spiel, expanding it to explain that they'd had wolf activity in Algonquin Park in the last few years, and wanted to tie this into that as an examination of the issues surrounding humans and wolves sharing an ever-shrinking world. When Dawn finished, she said nothing, just looked at the sisters as if waiting for the rest of the explanation.

"So, I told Dawn you could probably spare her a few minutes—" Garth began.

Her look made him shrink back.

"It really is only a couple of questions," Buffy said. "We know how busy you must be—"

"Garth? You can go now."

He fled.

Buffy continued. "We would love to buy you coffee. Or lunch."

"I've eaten. So, you two are looking for someone to write your story for you, Ms. Michaels? Crib from my article? Save yourself the legwork?"

"Um, no… as Dawn said, we only have a few questions, ones that will launch our own investigation. And, of course, anything we discover, we'll share with you."

"Your own investigation?"

Buffy and Dawn sensed her hackles rising. "For our own article," Dawn said. "For our own newspapers. We've already been to the general area where the deaths occurred, but…" She and Buffy forced a smile. "It's a lot bigger country than Buffy or I are used to. If we had a better idea where the—"

"Everything I can tell you two is in my articles. I presume you two have read them?"

"Yes," the sisters said.

She stepped back and did an openly critical assessment of them. "How old are you two?"

"We're not fresh out of college, if that's what—" Dawn said.

Garth nodded toward Dawn. "Married, I see. Kids?" She looked to Buffy. "Single?"

"Two," Dawn said carefully.

"I'm a single mother. And even though you didn't ask. My eldest is approaching her teen years and both Dawn and I just gave birth a couple years ago," Buffy said.

"An outdoors type?" she said, taking in the sisters' boots and jacket.

"You could say that," Dawn said as she looked at Buffy.

"Anchorage is an outdoorsman's dream. A full-service city minutes away from a wilderness filled with lakes, rivers, mountains, glaciers…"

"It is pretty amazing," Dawn said.

"Warmer than you thought, too, I bet. No mounds of snow or sub-zero temperatures…"

"Having experienced sub-zero, it's a very pleasant surprise," Buffy smiled, but her expression didn't change.

She continued. "Good city. All the amenities. The great outdoors in its full glory at your doorstep. The perfect place for a young family to relocate."

"Relocate?" Dawn asked.

"But first, you two need a job."

"Job? We don't need—" Buffy said.

"You two are not in the building five minutes and you two are already shaking hands with the editor. I bet you two think that's all it takes, don't you? A backwater place like Anchorage, there can't be any real journalists here. Probably all housewives, churning out articles before the kiddies come home from school. You two can just show up, the perky Canadian girls—"

"Perky?" Buffy said.

"—and you think a spot will open up for you. A good spot. Maybe my spot."

"Um, no. We're sure Anchorage is a great place to live, but we've already got lives—someplace else. We're here to talk about the wolf kills."

"I'm sure you two are. And I have nothing to say about them that isn't in my articles."

She walked away.

Garth hailed the sisters as they reached the doors. "Did Mallory give you anything useful?"

Buffy and Dawn made a noncommittal noise.

"I might have another story for you both," he continued. "I've been covering the disappearances of young women."

"Oh?" Buffy asked.

"We've had three vanish in the last few months. It might make an interesting article for your readers back home."

"Were the girls from Anchorage?" Dawn asked.

"One was. Two were from Native communities farther inland. Why don't we go grab a bite to eat and discuss it?"

"We'd love to, but we're supposed to meet my husband and niece for lunch," Dawn said.

His gaze dropped to Dawn's hand. "Oh, right. Sure. Well, if you two decide to run the story, call me."

He headed back into the offices without giving them his last name, card or any way to "call him." They reached the exterior doors this time before he hailed them again. He walked over, looking chagrined, as if realizing how it must look, taking off once he discovered Dawn was married.

"About Mallory's story," he said. "The wolves. There's someone else you two could talk to. A local woman who knows more about the case than anyone, including Mallory."

"Oh?" Buffy asked.

He waved for the sisters to step outside. It had started drizzling. They ducked under an overhang.

"Her name's Lynn Nygard," he continued. "She works for the state police. Mallory used her as a source, but I know she didn't give Mallory everything." Garth lowered his voice. "Mallory can rub people the wrong way."

"Will Ms. Nygard talk to us?" Buffy asked.

"Oh, sure. There's just one thing. Lynn has this theory about the deaths and it would, uh, help if you didn't… discourage it."

"Theory?" Dawn said as she glanced at Buffy.

He waved to a coworker stepping out for a cigarette, then lowered his voice. "She thinks they were killed by some kind of Inuit shape-shifter. There's a name for them—I can't remember it. You don't have to say you believe in them, just…"

"Don't laugh when she mentions it?" Buffy said.

"Exactly. If she warms to you two, you both can also ask about the missing girls. She has a theory on that, too."

"Alien abductions?" Dawn asked.

He laughed. "You both must have met a few Lynns in your time."

"We have. You said she works for the police?" Dawn said.

"They tolerate her eccentricities because she's the best damned crime-scene photographer and sketch artist in Alaska. Of course, according to her, that's because she's the reincarnation of Leonardo da Vinci."

"Ah," Buffy and Dawn said.

"Yes, she loves that paranormal shit, but obsession can be good if you're looking for the best source of detailed information. You'll find Lynn in the phone book." He spelled her last name as I wrote it down, then gave me his card and offered, genuinely it seemed, to help if he could.

Buffy had Dawn call Clay and Savannah from the SUV.

"How'd it go at the paper?" he asked.

"She called us perky," Buffy said.

"Ouch."

Buffy and Dawn explained about Mallory Hirsch. After Clay said a few choice words about that, they explained the lead on Lynn Nygard. "I called her place," Dawn said. "No answer. Buffy and I are going to swing by there on our way, then grab lunch."

They made it three blocks before Savannah appeared in a flash of green in the backseat of the SUV.

"What is it, honey?" Dawn asked as she looked over her shoulder.

"Mom, head back toward the motel," Savannah said. "Reese is there and there is a situation."

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Buffy and Dawn were still ten feet from Reese's hotel room when they smelled blood.

"Door's open," Clay called.

Savannah and the sisters found him pacing inside, cell phone at his ear. Reese sat on the edge of the bed, with a bloody towel around his right hand.

"I didn't do it," Clay said.

Dawn and Buffy motioned to the phone.

"Jeremy," he said.

"What happened?" Dawn asked Reese.

He glanced down at his towel-wrapped hand, as if startled to see it. His pupils were dilated and he blinked hard, having trouble focusing on his hand, still holding it up and staring. The sisters glanced at Clay, but he'd turned his back to them as Jeremy gave instructions.

When Dawn took Reese's hand, he didn't resist. His skin above the towel was clammy, despite the warm room. She slowly unraveled the towel until she saw his hand, and winced. Two finger joints of his ring finger and the last joint of his pinkie had been cut off.

"I didn't do it," Clay said.

"I figured that," Buffy said. "Otherwise Savannah would have said something."

Clay grunted and tossed the phone onto the bed.

"What happened?" Buffy asked.

"No idea. I haven't gotten that far. Jeremy says we need to get him stitched up. We can get the details after."

"Clay, I'm going to get Dawn's bag and her first-aid kit." Buffy said and Clay nodded as he moved to accompany her. She rolled her eyes. This whole being Jeremy's successor and future Alpha business was getting on her nerves. She liked that Clay looked out for her, always had as it made her feel loved. But she just wanted to be able to go somewhere without a bodyguard. She and Clay hurried outside to the car and returned moments later. "Clay," she said. "You know Savannah could have come with me. I know I'm supposed to be Jeremy's successor, but…"

Clay sighed. "I know, Buffy. I know you have a daughter that is a strong as any member of the Pack. But I also know this, I don't want to have to tell Dawn how her sister and niece were killed either simply because I wasn't there, because I let you two go on your own."

Buffy turned and hugged Clay. "I see your point," she said. "I'll try and tolerate having a bodyguard."

"Thank you, Buffy," Clay said as he returned the embrace.

Dawn got Reese's hand cleaned, stitched and bandaged while Buffy played nurse, taking away the dirty cloths and getting new ones while Savannah and Clay stood watch. As for how Reese lost his fingers, he was staying mum. It seemed more shock than reticence, though, so Buffy and Dawn tried to distract him by discussing the latest injuries in their lives; Logan, Joyce and Anne's fall.

"Logan wouldn't talk," Dawn said. "But Buffy and I finally got Joyce and Anne to admit what happened, which was exactly what we thought."

"They jumped because they'd seen us doing it," Buffy said as she explained to Reese. "Our kids have realized that our days don't end after they go to bed. Clay and Dawn go for walks in the forest, sometimes I go with them, sometimes with Savannah. We all talk by the fire; the food comes out …"

"Especially the food," Clay said.

"Naturally they felt left out and kept getting up. Rather than turn bedtime into a battleground, we started going to bed at the same time, then sneaking downstairs or outside," Dawn said.

"Only they heard us if we went downstairs," Clay said.

"Being so young," Buffy said, "they shouldn't have secondary powers at least not at this stage of their lives. We aren't even sure they're werewolves—one, two or all three or … it's complicated. Anyway, at this age, we don't know whether they have enhanced hearing or we're just louder than we think we are. But we thought we were safe, avoiding the stairs and jumping out our bedroom windows. Apparently not."

"They tried it?" Reese said, his first words since the sisters and Savannah had come in. "Are they okay?"

"Two with sprained ankles, and one with a sprained wrist and three very guilt-stricken parents."

"And guilt-stricken sister," Savannah added as Buffy looked at her. "Well I was." She looked at Reese. "While I'm not a wolf, I'm a Slayer."

"That explains the scent you give off," Reese said in understanding.

Savannah looked back at her mother. "And you know the Slayer within…"

"Protects the ones it loves," Buffy said in understanding. "Which means any time their hurt, you hurt. The same was the case with me and Dawn."

"We're going to have to come up with another solution, all of us," Clay said.

"Other than tying them to their beds?" Dawn asked.

"That'll be option two," Buffy said. "You know it was so much easier with Savannah."

"Savannah was easy compared to Logan, Joyce and Anne, Buffy," Clay said. "You were reunited with her after twelve years apart. She was already a teenager. You didn't have to go through all that stuff that Eve did with Savannah." He looked at Reese. "Buffy gave Savannah up for adoption. Through a twist of fate, she was given back to Buffy."

Dawn cut off the bandage. "Savannah aside, all of us should probably just clamp down—bedtime is bedtime—but I was thinking of a compromise. We'll let them stay up until eleven two nights a week and we'll all go to bed early, Savannah included…" Buffy had slowly began to let Savannah patrol Bear Valley solo over the last few months, after much nagging from Savannah, "…and the rest of the week, they're down at the normal time. If they don't settle, then we get tough—no special late nights."

"That might work," Buffy said.

"I hope so," Dawn said. "Or it'll be time to invest in bars for the windows." She stood and stretched her legs.

Reese had followed their conversation with equal parts interest and bewilderment, and now he just looked confused.

"So," Clay said as he repacked Dawn's medical bag. "Your hand. Mutt do that?"

Reese flinched at the word. Some do, taking it as derogatory. Others wear it as a badge of honor. Most don't care, the word having long since lost its bite, a label no different from "Pack wolf." But seeing Reese's reaction, Dawn quickly said, "Another werewolf, I take it?"

He nodded. "I was in the museum this morning. The art and history one on Seventh Street." He explained that he'd gone, pulled by a mild interest in history coupled with the conviction that if any werewolf had followed him to Alaska, a museum would be the last place we'd look.

Reese's logic, while sound, didn't help him. He was found there, by two mutts who'd introduced themselves as Travis and Dan. They'd crossed his trail a couple of blocks away and followed it to check him out, as any werewolf would upon scenting another in the same city.

"Travis was checking it out, holding the end of my fingers. That's when it happened, so fast I didn't see the knife until…" He paled at the memory. "If I hadn't yanked back right then, he would have taken both fingers right off. I ran. I shoved my hand in my pocket and I ran as fast as I could. I could hear them coming after me. So I raced past this guard—an old guy. By the time he got up and yelled at me, I was out the door, but it made Travis and Dan pull back. There was a cab right out front. I got in and came here. I—I guess they wanted the ring, but it wasn't anything special. Just a high school ring."

"It wasn't about the ring," Clay said. "It was a warning. Get off our territory."

"Then why not just tell me to? Why act all nice, then—" He lifted his hand. "Do this?"

"How do you feel?" Clay asked.

Reese's face darkened. "How the hell do you think I feel? I lost my fucking fingers."

"Scared? Confused?" Buffy asked.

"Hell, yes."

Buffy nodded. "And what were you going to do after you got it cleaned up? Tell the desk clerk you'll be staying a few more days, extending your Alaskan vacation?"

"Fuck no. I would have been on the first plane—" He stopped and nodded. "That's the point, isn't it?"

"Strike hard and fast, catch you off guard and scare the crap out of you. Lot more effective than giving a friendly warning and hoping you don't stab them in the back."

Dawn asked about the mutts. He gave me a description. Travis was "huge." At least six foot four and buff. The rest of him hadn't left much of an impression—brown hair, he thought, neither long nor short. No idea what color his eyes were. No distinguishing marks.

"We'll go back to the museum," Buffy said to Clay. "I doubt they're hanging around, but I want Dawn and I to check the scents. Chances are these are the same guys we smelled in the woods."

"Hope so," Clay said as Dawn agreed.

"I'll take you there," Reese said. "I can show you where I was attacked."

"Just tell us where to look, and we'll pick up the scents. They're probably gone, but they could be staking it out, and you've already gotten hurt," Buffy said.

"And that's why I want to go back." He flushed. "I ran away."

"You'd just lost two fingers," Buffy said. "Running away was the right thing to do."

Reese glanced at Clay. Despite being Jeremy's successor and the future Alpha of the Pack. Buffy knew better than to hope Clay would back her or Dawn up just to make the kid feel better. Reese probably knew that, too, which is why he ignored Dawn or Buffy's reassurances and looked to Clay.

"If the guy's as big as you said, then, yeah, nothing wrong with running," Clay said. "But if you think you're going back now, hoping for payback? With us to watch your back and jump in if you can't handle it?"

Reese flushed again, deeper now. "I didn't mean—"

"No, I'm sure you didn't. But you didn't think it through either. If we meet up with these mutts, we can't be looking over our shoulders, keeping an eye on an injured kid itching for revenge. Dawn and Buffy came to Alaska to save your ass. I'm not letting you get killed now, making them feel bad."

Dawn cleared her throat and shot Clay a look that said, really, this should not be the reason he didn't want Reese dead. But one glance at Reese told Dawn as well as Buffy that, if anything, he was relieved by Clay's honesty.

"All right then," Reese said. "I'll tell you whatever you need, then I'll hit the road."

Buffy shook her head. "While Clay's right—you do need to leave Alaska—I'd like you to stay with a Pack member until we finish here."

"I appreciate the offer, but that's not necessary."

"Actually, it is. You're injured and you're still in danger—" Buffy said.

"I'll be fine," he said.

"As fine as Yuli Etxeberria?" Dawn asked.

"Who?"

"The last guy Liam and Ramon blamed for their man-eating," Dawn said. "He was a few years older than you and a recent immigrant. Lost some fingers, too. In his case, the whole hand—postmortem. Liam and Ramon mailed it to us. That's what Buffy and I've been trying to tell you. They've done it before, and blamed another kid, and if you stick around, you'll be their next scapegoat."

"So, you just wanted to warn me?"

"And see what you know about Liam and Ramon," Clay said. "Get your help finding them and proving they're man-eaters."

"Why didn't you say so?" he asked the sisters.

"Well, maybe because you kept taking off before we could explain, convinced Clay was lurking around the next corner," Buffy said.

"I don't lurk," Clay said.

"You kind of do, Uncle Clay," Savannah countered as Clay glared at her.

"I'll tell you what I can about Liam and Ramon," Reese said. "Then I'll find someplace and lie low."

"If you're going anyplace on the continent, it's New York State," Buffy said. "As a guest of the Pack."

Reese looked at Clay.

"If you die, Buffy, Dawn and Savannah will feel bad. I don't like it when they feel bad," Clay said.

"Either that or Buffy and I put you on the next plane back to Australia," Dawn said.

"No," he said quickly. "I'm—I'm here for good."

"All right then," Buffy said. "You're staying with the Pack until Clay, Dawn, Savannah and I get back and take care of this business with Liam and Ramon."

"So where do you want me to stay? Syracuse?"

"That's where the Alpha lives," Clay said.

"Another Pack family lives outside New York City," Buffy said. "They have a big place, with lots of room. You'll stay with them."

"The Sorrentinos," Reese said.

"That's right," Buffy said.

"And they'll just let me move in for a while?"

"Antonio will put you to work," Clay said.

Reese nodded, visibly relieved. He agreed and Buffy made the arrangements. Nick would meet him at the airport. Tonight, Jeremy would leave the twins and Anne with Jaime and drive to Antonio's place to check Reese's fingers.

They drove Reese to the airport. On the way, Clay gave him "the lecture," including all the do's and don'ts of meeting the Alpha, which was only slightly more complicated than an audience with the queen. Don't sit until you're invited to. Don't talk unless he asks you a question. Don't eat before he does. Don't make direct eye contact. Jeremy demanded none of this, but that wasn't the point.

Hierarchy is very important to wolves, and it's just as important to them. It's why both Dawn and Clay looked to Buffy to direction now. As far as they were concerned, she was above them in every way.

Next Clay gave the house rules for living with the Sorrentinos, which sounded a lot like the Ten Commandments. Thou shall not lie, steal anything, kill anyone, disrespect anyone.

Reese was fine with all this. It was a firm and clear language that a werewolf understood better than "Be a good houseguest."

After they left him at the airport, it was time to return to the scene of the crime: the museum.