"Whoa," breathed Claude.

"Hooboy," whispered Claudia.

"Wowzers," I muttered.

Standing between the contenders, the tall man led them to the start of the course.

"Once the test begins, no pack member can interrupt," he said, looking from one Were to the other.

"First contestant is Patrick, wolf of this pack," the tall man said. His bass voice was as dramatic as the distant rumble of drums.

I understood, then; he was the referee. "Patrick goes first, by coin flip," the tall man said.

Before I could think it was pretty funny that all this ceremony included a coin toss, the pale wolf was off, moving so fast that I could hardly keep track of him. He flew up a ramp, leaped three barrels, hit the ground on the far side at a dash, went up another ramp and through a ring hanging from the ceiling (which rocked violently after he was through it), and dropped down on the ground, crawling on all fours through a clear tunnel that was very narrow and twisted at intervals. It was like the one sold in pet stores for ferrets or gerbils, just bigger. Once out of the tunnel, the wolf, mouth open in a pant, came to a level area covered with Astroturf. Here, he paused and considered before putting out a foot. Every step was like that, as the wolf worked its way across the twenty yards or so of this particular area. Suddenly a section of Astroturf leaped up as a trap snapped shut, narrowly missing the wolf's hind leg. The wolf yipped in consternation, frozen in place. It must have been agonizing, trying to restrainhimself from dashing for the safety of the platform that was now only a few feet away.

I was shivering, though this contest had little to do with me. The tension was clearly showing among the Weres. They didn't seem to be moving quite as humans did anymore. Even the overly made-up Mrs. Furnan had wide round eyes now, eyes that didn't look like a woman's even under all that makeup.

As the gray wolf took his final test, a leap from a dead stop that had to cover the length of perhaps two cars, a howl of triumph erupted from Patrick's mate's throat. The gray wolf stood safely on the platform. The referee checked a stopwatch in his hand.

"Second candidate," said the big man, " Jackson Herveaux, wolf of this pack." A brain close to me supplied me with the big man's name.

"Quinn," I whispered to Claudine. Her eyes opened wide. The name was significant to her in a way I could not guess.

 Jackson Herveaux began the same test of skills that Patrick had already completed. He was more graceful going through the suspended hoop; it scarcely moved as he sailed through. He took a little longer, I thought, getting through the tunnel. He seemed to realize it, too, because he stepped into the trap field more hastily than I thought wise. He stopped dead, maybe coming to the same conclusion. He bent to use his nose more carefully. The information he got from this made him quiver all over. With exquisite care, the werewolf raised one black forepaw and moved it a fraction of an inch. We were holding our breath as he worked forward in a completely different style from his predecessor. Patrick Furnan had moved in big steps, with longish pauses in between for careful sniffing, a sort of hurry-up-and-wait style. Jackson Herveaux moved very steadily in small increments, his nose always busy, his movements cannily plotted. To my relief, Alcide's father made it across unharmed, without springing any of the traps.

The black wolf gathered himself for the final long leap and launched himself into the air with all his power. His landing was less than graceful, as his hind paws had to scrabble to cling to the edge of the landing site. But he made it, and a few congratulatory yips echoed through the empty space.

"Both candidates pass the agility test," Quinn said. His eyes roamed the crowd. When they passed over our odd trio—two tall black-haired twin fairies and a much shorter blond human—his gaze may have lingered a moment, but it was hard to say.

Christine was trying to get my attention. When she saw I was looking at her, she gave a tiny, sharp nod of her head to a spot by the test-of-endurance pen. Puzzled but obedient, I eased through the crowd. I didn't know the twins had followed me until they resumed standing to either side of me. There was something about this that Christine wanted me to see,to .  . . Of course. She wanted me to use my talent here. Shesuspected .  . . skulduggery. As Alcide and his blond counterpart took their places in the pen, I noticed they were both gloved. Their attention was totally absorbed by this contest; leaving nothing for me to sieve from that focus. That left the two wolves. I'd never tried to look inside the mind of a shifted person.

With considerable anxiety, I concentrated on opening myself to their thoughts. As you might expect, the blend of human and dog thought patterns was quite challenging. At first scan I could only pick up the same kind of focus, but then I detected a difference.

As Alcide lifted an eighteen-inch-long silver rod, my stomach felt cold and shivery. Watching the blond Were next to him repeat the gesture, I felt my lips draw back in distaste. The gloves were not totally necessary, because in human form, a Were's skin would not be damaged by the silver. In wolf form, silver was terribly painful.

Furnan's blond second ran his covered hands over the silver, as if testing the bar for hidden faults.

I had no idea why silver weakened vampires and burned them, and why it could be fatal to Weres, while it had no effect on fairies—who, however, could not bear prolonged exposure to iron. But I knew these things were true, and I knew the upcoming test would be awful to watch.

However, I was there to witness it. Something was going to happen that needed my attention. I turned my mind back to the little difference I'd read in Patrick's thoughts. In his Were form, these were so primitive they hardly qualified as "thoughts."

Quinn stood between the two seconds, his smooth scalp picking up a gleam of light. He had a timing watch in his hands.

"The candidates will take the silver now," he said, and with his gloved hands Alcide put the bar in his father's mouth. The black wolf clamped down and sat, just as the light gray wolf did with his silver bar. The two seconds drew back. A high whine of pain came from Jackson Herveaux, while Patrick Furnan showed no signs of stress other than heavy panting. As the delicate skin of his gums and lips began to smoke and smell a little, Jackson 's whining became louder. Patrick's skin showed the same painful symptoms, but Patrick was silent.

"They're so brave," whispered Claude, watching with fascinated horror at the torment the two wolves were enduring. It was becoming apparent that the older wolf would not win this contest. The visible signs of pain were increasing every second, and though Alcide stood there focusing solely on his father to add his support, at any moment it would be over.Except . . .

"He's cheating," I said clearly, pointing at the gray wolf.

"No member of the pack may speak." Quinn's deep voice was not angry, merely matter-of-fact.

"I'm not a pack member."

"You challenge the contest?" Quinn was looking at me now. All the pack members who'd been standing close around me dropped back until I stood alone with the two fairies,who were looking down at me with some surprise and dismay.

"You bet your ass I do. Smell the gloves Patrick's second was wearing."

The blond second looked completely blindsided.And guilty.

"Drop the bars," Quinn commanded, and the two wolves complied, Jackson Herveaux with a whimper. Alcide dropped to his knees by his father, putting his arms around the older wolf.

Quinn, moving as smoothly as if his joints were oiled, knelt to retrieve the gloves that Patrick's second had tossed to the floor. Libby Furnan's hand darted over the velvet rope to snatch them up, but a deep snarl from Quinn told her to stop. It made my own spine tingle, and I was much farther away than Libby.