We didn’t go far. The only place that Dad could think of to hold such a large group was the social hall of the parish. One of the guards prodded me out of the limo into the empty parking lot with the point of his spear.
For a moment, I worried I’d been kidnapped, but I sighed with relief as the rest of the caravan of black Cadillac Escalades pulled in behind us. Daniel and my father got out of one of the vehicles; Talbot, Jude, and the lost boys soon arrived in other cars.
The spearmen shuffled us into the building, followed by a long procession of Sirhan’s robe-clad people—or Urbats, to be exact. We stood around in the social hall, feeling like cattle herded into a corral.
Or perhaps a slaughterhouse.
Daniel gripped my hand hard. Almost like he feared he’d never get a chance to again.
“They’re all looking at me,” I said, and nodded toward the members of Sirhan’s pack, who were staring at me.
“It’s to be expected after what you did for Jordan. You’re the Divine One, remember?” Daniel said. “You’re the stuff of legends to them, and you proved them true.”
“Oh. Yeah. That.” Earlier in the week, I’d felt so completely alone. Now I felt claustrophobic, surrounded by so many people and their searching eyes. “Wait, Jordan?” Daniel knew that young woman’s name?
But Daniel had already turned to one of the spearmen. “What now?” Daniel asked him.
“We wait for Sirhan.”
“What’s taking so long?”
The spearman furrowed his brow and rocked a little back and forth, looking like he was contemplating just how much to say. “Sirhan has his own medical staff. He won’t exit the car until they’ve fully examined him and deemed it safe for him to be moved.” His brow crinkled deeper. “He shouldn’t have left the estate to begin with, if you ask me.”
Daniel nodded. I don’t know about him, but I was surprised by the spearman’s honesty.
Minutes ticked by, and the silence started to wane. Sirhan’s people started to talk amongst themselves, many pointing in my direction. The spearman Daniel had questioned left our side and joined the nine other green-robed spear bearers, who were huddled in the far corner, looking like they were engaged in some sort of debate. Some of the men who’d been wearing blue robes had taken them off, revealing regular old T-shirts and jeans underneath.
“What’s the deal with the robes?” Jude asked from behind me. “They look like a bunch of wizards.”
“My hypothesis,” Brent said. “They’re either for ceremony or post-transformation convenience.”
“Post what?” Slade said.
“You know, the whole naked factor. Normal clothes never survive the transformation from human to wolf, which means you’re always naked when you go back to being human. The robes are quite clever. Easily discarded before transformation, and there for the convenience of covering up your … stuff, when you change back.”
Slade laughed. “I like the way they think. Waking up somewhere with a bunch of naked guys has always been my least-favorite part of this werewolf gig.”
“Brent’s right on both accounts,” Daniel said. “During my time with Sirhan’s pack, they always wore the robes when they thought a fight might break out. And they wore their brightly colored ceremonial robes to impress us.”
“I’m always right,” Brent said, flexing his muscles; I’m not sure how that had anything to do with being smart. “Which is why,” he pointed at Ryan, “you should totally pick those blisters, like I said.”
Ryan lifted his fingers toward the blistered spearhead-shaped wound on his face. “Are you sure?”
I swatted Ryan’s hand away from his face. “Don’t touch it. You don’t want it to scar. Brent’s just being … well, Brent.”
“Can’t you work your healing magic on it?” Ryan asked me, and then shot a glare at Brent. “It burns like a mother—”