Tag was a wolf in Bran's pack.
He'd never left Montana, and only he and I knew about the shoelace incident.
He'd found me hiding from Bran's wrath--I don't remember what I'd done--and when I wouldn't come on my own he'd taken off his bootlaces and made a collar and leash out of them for coyote me.
Then he'd dragged me through Bran's house to the study.
He knew who'd stolen his shoelaces all right.
And until I left for Portland, I'd given him shoelaces every holiday--and he'd laugh.
No way any of Bran's wolves were spying for the vampires.
I hid my thoughts with a couple of mouthfuls of bread.
When I could swallow, I said, "Great bread, Amber.
Did you make it yourself?" Nothing I could say about the shoelaces struck me as useful.
So I changed the subject to food.
Amber could always be counted upon to talk about nutrition.
Death wouldn't change that.
"Yes," she told me.
"All whole grains.
Jim has taken me for his cook and housekeeper.
If only I hadn't ruined it for him." Yeah, poor Jim.
Amber had forced him to kill her--so he wouldn't get a new cook.
"Hush," Blackwood said.
I turned my head so I sort of faced Blackwood.
"Yeah," I said.
"That won't work anymore.
Even a human nose is going to smell rotting flesh in a few days.
Not what you want in a cook.
Not that you need a cook." I took another bite of bread.
"So how long have you been watching me?" I asked.
"I'd despaired of ever finding another walker," he told me.
"Imagine my joy when I heard that the Marrok had taken one under his wing." "Yeah, well," I said, "it wouldn't have worked very well for you if I'd stayed." Ghosts, I thought.
He'd used ghosts to watch me.
"I'm not worried about werewolves," said Blackwood.