"We don't have to kill her," Claire protested, scrambling wildly for an alternative. Kidnapping her. Somehow erasing her memory. Something. Anything.
"You're right." Judith stepped forward smoothly. "We don't have to kill her. Pack law dictates that it is the responsibility of the wolf whose identity has been compromised to eliminate the human who knows. We don't have to kill Amy. You do."
The words slammed into Claire like a series of hammer blows. The urge to throw up swirled inside her, making the inside of her mouth taste sour. She tried to see herself lunging after a screaming Amy. Or twisting her fragile neck. But she couldn't. Couldn't imagine it. Couldn't do it. Not ever.
"You can do it, Claire." Her mother sank down in front of her, between Claire and the fire. Looking at her. Reading her thoughts in her posture. Her scent. "The laws are very clear on this." Marie's voice grew quiet, tinged with an ancient, knowing sort of sadness. "Living with the horror of killing a human is the price that you pay for being compromised in this way. For the danger that you have brought to the pack. I am sorry," she whispered, her eyes wet.
Claire's breath caught in her throat, constricting into a sob. She couldn't stop the tears that raced down her cheeks, and she didn't bother to hide them.
"There has to be another way—a better way," she begged.
Marie shook her head firmly but not unkindly. "The best way is to plan it carefully and do it quickly." She reached for Claire's hand. "And the planning —we are allowed to help you with that. We will make it as easy as we can, chérie. For you and Amy both."
"I can't—"
"You have to. Or the whole pack is at risk. A human death is terrible, but there are six of us—and, of course, Aura. It may be your identity that Amy has discovered, but it puts all of us in danger. Your whole wolf family. And so you will do this to save all of us. Do you understand?" The memory of her half-starved mother cowering in Dr. Engle's cage last summer rose in Claire's mind. Behind it came a vision of Victoria dead at the hands of vengeful hunters and Aura crying for a mother she would never know. And then there were Judith, Katherine, and Beatrice . . . and none of this was their fault.
Claire huddled into herself, closing her eyes against the awfulness of what was happening. "Okay," she whispered.
Her mother released her hand and stood.
"So, we have little time to waste. Let us begin. Judith? I know you have some . . . experience in this area. Perhaps you would like to start."
Claire's eyes flew open, and she stared at Judith's stony face. Judith returned her gaze. She nodded, slowly, a crack of vulnerability appearing in her masklike expression. "It's true. It was years ago. But someone found out what I really am."
"But you couldn't have killed someone. Until Zahl—" Claire caught herself just in time. "Until last summer, there hadn't been a werewolf attack in Hanover Falls for over a hundred years."
"No recorded attacks," Judith countered. "No one knew that it was a werewolf who killed him. No one was even sure he'd been killed at all. It looked very much like an accident." She turned her face up toward the sky. "I was—" Her voice faltered, and she cleared her throat, still studying the stars that speckled the patch of sky above the clearing. "I was dating him. He came one night, to surprise me, and saw me leave to go for a run in the woods. He saw me transform." Her fingers trembled in her lap. "He panicked—there was no time for a good plan. I caught him and broke his neck. And left him at the bottom of the ravine. He was dressed like someone who might have been walking in the woods. Everyone assumed he'd fallen." Her eyes glittered in the reflected starlight, tears gathering in the corners. She scrubbed her hands across her face and cleared her throat, the vulnerability disappearing from her voice.
"That's how it must be done or the hunt for us simply begins again." She looked thoughtfully at Claire. "Perhaps you can make it look like a suicide. There's nothing wrong with that. Can you think of any reason why she would be depressed?"
Claire shook her head. "Everyone likes her. She's ridiculously happy. She's practically the poster-girl for well-adjusted people."
"Okay, so, some other sort of accident." Judith was being so matter-of-fact. Like she was picking out paint colors. Or talking about which restaurant to try. But there were lines at the corners of her mouth that were telling their own story. Hoping that Claire couldn't tell just how bad it was going to be.
But Claire could tell. And it was terrifying.
Judith leaned back against the fallen tree. "A car accident is pretty hard to stage—it would be better if we could think of something that was just her. Electricity? Water?"
Claire blinked as a memory—welcome, unwelcome— stepped out of her subconscious. "She can't swim," she whispered. "Amy can't swim."