Dead as a Doornail

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. She suspected . . . 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 indistaste. 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 focusingsolely 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