"Samuel is .
.
.
I could not do it with strange werewolves.
If it were just fear, I would do it.
But the panic attacks can be dangerous to anyone around me." She looked at Zee.
"Could they find them without me, do you think?" "No," said Zee.
"If I have to stay out here, then they will need you to keep them from being lost.
Moreover, I think that the wolves might be a mistake.
Samuel is old enough and powerful in his own right--I think he could resist the will of one such as a fairy queen.
But all of the wolves .
.
.
The chances are too great that she would turn our own against us.
If she turns you or Jesse, Ariana and Sam can still get you out.
If you go in with the pack, even one wolf who turns would mean death." "It's all right, Mercy," said Jesse.
"I'm not helpless, and I .
.
.
Would you be able to wait out here if it were Dad in there?" "No." "Are you ready?" asked Zee.
"All right," I said, painfully aware that Adam would not be happy with me, but Jesse was right.
She was probably the safest among us.
"Let's get them out of here." "Good," said Zee--and he dropped his glamour without fanfare or drama.
One moment he was the tallish skinny old man with a little rounded belly and age spots on his neck and hands, and the next he was a tall, sleek warrior with skin dark as wet bark.
Sunlight tinted his hair gold.
It hung in a thick braid that flowed over one shoulder and hung lower than his belt.
The last time I'd seen him, his pointed ears had been pierced many times, and he had worn bone earrings in the piercings.
There were no decorations at all.
His was a body that didn't belong in the jeans and plaid flannel shirt he still wore.
The clothing fit him as well in his current shape as they had in the one I was used to.