I found her number, dialed, and we chatted for a few minutes. I wanted to work my question into the conversation casually if I could. But when you’re talking about the spring weather and the movie you saw last weekend, it’s hard to drop in a mention of werewolves. I blurted instead.

“Have you ever heard, hypothetically speaking, of a werewolf getting stuck in wolf form?” Not what you’d call smooth, but at least we were on track.

“Hypothetically? In folklore, there are stories like that. Usually the werewolf can’t change back because someone hid his clothes.” Kane had a couple of suits in my closet, so that wasn’t the problem. Roxana continued: “It’s funny how in those stories, the wolf is almost always a man—one with a cheating wife who finds it convenient to prevent her husband from returning.” Nope, definitely not the case here.

“Anything else?”

“Well, there’s wolfsbane. One of the reasons that plant got its name is that it’s the bane of the wolf—in other words, it makes the wolf vanish and brings back the human form.”

That sounded more promising. “How does it work?”

“From what I understand, it’s compounded into an ointment and rubbed into the wolf’s paws.”

“So is this ointment for sale?”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so. Wolfsbane is highly poisonous.” She paused. “Why do I get the feeling we’ve moved beyond the hypothetical?”

I considered. I didn’t know Roxana well, but she’d given me help and support when that Hellion threatened Boston. She’d had reason to doubt me then, but she’d decided to trust me. Okay. I’d make the same decision now.

“It’s Kane. Last night he got hit with a blast of magical energy, and it knocked him into his wolf form.”

“And he didn’t change back with the dawn.”

“Correct.” I liked the way she got right to the heart of the problem. “I was hoping you might have an idea of how to help him.”

“Well, the safest thing is to wait for the full moon. But I guess you called me because you don’t want to wait. The wolfsbane could work. If I cast a strong protection spell before applying it—”

“I thought you said wolfsbane isn’t available.”

“It’s a very pretty flower that grows in my garden. I have some preserved. Let me do some research. If I find a recipe for a wolfsbane ointment that I believe is safe, I’ll call you back.”

“Great. I’ll talk to Kane about the risks and see if he’s willing to try it.”

The long pause made me think the call had been dropped. “Roxana?”

“Didn’t you say he’s in wolf form? How can you discuss anything with him?”

“He’s still got his human consciousness. He can’t talk, but he understands everything you say and responds as best he can.”

“Interesting.”

“How long will your research take?”

“It’s hard to say. It could be an hour or two. It could be a day or two. It depends on how lucky I get.”

I sighed. “I hope your luck is running better than mine.”

I TOLD KANE ABOUT MY CONVERSATION WITH ROXANA, how she thought a wolfsbane ointment might reverse his transformation. He clearly liked the idea. He jumped down from the sofa, ran in circles, and then pointed his muzzle at the ceiling and howled. “Shh,” I said. “We promised Clyde, remember?” He stopped howling and looked at me, eyes bright. I sat wearily on the sofa. “Wolfsbane is poison, Kane. Roxana said she’d only make up the ointment if she thought it was safe, but . . .”

He jumped up beside me and flicked his tongue against my cheek. I put an arm around him, pressing my face into his fur, breathing in the moonlight-and-pine scent, a link to the Kane I knew. It was his decision, but that didn’t stop me from worrying.

Mab, awake after her nap, came into the living room. I asked her what she thought of Roxana’s idea.

“Wolfsbane . . .” she said thoughtfully. “It could work. But it’s dangerous. May I have her telephone number? I’d like to confer with her.”

“I’ll call her for you. But first, I need to take your picture.”

Mab put a hand to her iron-gray hair. It was short, like mine, and mussed from sleeping. “Whatever for?”

“You need an ID,” I said, “to get in and out of Deadtown. I know someone who makes fake IDs while you wait.” Given the number of times my paranormal ID card had been shredded by the energy blast of a shift, I was one of his best customers. It had been years since I’d carried an honest-to-God official ID.

Mab went into the bathroom to brush her hair while I got out my camera. I positioned her against a blank stretch of wall and adjusted the lighting.

“Say cheese!” I said, centering her in the viewfinder.

“Whatever for?”

“All right, just smile.” Mab’s expression didn’t change, and I knew that was as close to a smile as I was going to get. I took a picture, and then two more to make sure we’d have a usable one.

Mab stepped away from the wall and reached for my camera.

I smiled. “You want to choose your favorite?”

“Hardly. I presume you need a new identification card, as well. Myrddin and the Old Ones stole your belongings.”

“You’re right. But I don’t need a photo. Mine’s already on file.”

Mab did smile at that.

I called Roxana again and gave Mab the phone. I put on my jacket, removed the storage card from my camera, and stuck it in my pocket. Kane sat up, ears swiveled forward, as I headed toward the front door.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” I said. “I’m going to 24-Hour Copy.” I opened the door, then turned back to the room, my hand on the knob. “Kane, this wolfsbane thing. I want you back so much. But we’re not going to try it unless it’s one hundred percent safe. I’m not going to lose you.”

The expression in his intelligent gray eyes stayed with me long after I’d closed the door.

A ROUND-THE-CLOCK COPY CENTER BEFORE THE PLAGUE, 24-Hour Copy hadn’t changed much since. It was still always open, and it still had copy machines, high-quality printers, and rent-by-the-hour computers. But zombies and other Deadtown residents didn’t need many photocopies. So the big change, the change that had allowed the business to thrive, was its trade in fake paperwork and IDs.

At the front counter, a bored-looking zombie attendant was reading a magazine and eating three chocolate bars at a time. She’d unwrap them, stack them, and they’d disappear into her mouth. She polished off six in the time it took me to walk from the door to the counter.

“Help you?” she asked around the chocolate that filled her mouth.

“Is Carlos here?”

She jerked her head to indicate he was in the back, where I’d expected him to be. As I thanked her and walked past the counter, she was already unwrapping more chocolate.

A locked door guarded the back room. I rapped three times, paused, rapped two more. The door swung open to reveal a zombie seated at a cluttered desk in the small room. Behind him, two large printers whirred. The desk held three widescreen computer monitors, stacks of paper, crumpled lunch bags, and a coffee mug. The zombie who sat there turned toward the door, his hands still on the keyboard.

“Hi, Carlos.”

Carlos had been a computer programmer before the plague. It was only after he’d been reanimated that he found his true calling. The man was an artist. Not only could he make perfect reproductions of ID cards and other documents, he had the skills to make sure that the city’s database matched whatever his products said. He wasn’t cheap, but he was the best.

Now, he smiled as I came in. Carlos was the only zombie I knew who had a genuinely pleasant smile—as opposed to one that made you want to run away screaming.

“Hey, Vicky. Don’t tell me you’ve got more business for me already.”

“I’m afraid so. I need two IDs.”

“Two? You keep this up, and I’ll be buying myself a yacht to cruise around Boston Harbor.”

I laughed, but the joke wasn’t all that funny. Zombies didn’t get to cruise around the harbor, and I did hand over a good portion of my income to Carlos.

“So what do you need?” he asked.

“The usual for me. I also need an ID card for my aunt. She’s a demi-human like me, but she’s visiting from the UK and she doesn’t have any papers.” I handed him the memory card that held Mab’s photos.

Carlos didn’t ask how she’d arrived with no papers. Nosy wasn’t his style. “You want her to be a visitor or a resident?”

“Which would be easier?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘easy.’ Visitor’s papers would be cheaper. But she’ll run into fewer hassles going in and out of Deadtown if she’s identified as a resident. Of course, that’s where things get more complicated, getting her into the system. It’ll take some hacking to establish her identity.”

“She’s only in town for a few days, but we can’t afford getting tied up in red tape while she’s here. I guess we’d better make her a resident.”

Carlos grinned. “It’s your money.”

“Not for long.” His grin broadened at my words. He really did have a nice smile—too bad it was at my expense.

“This will take longer than a while-you-wait job. The city’s got their system locked down pretty tight now.”

“Will that be a problem?”

“Not for me.” Another grin. This was a zombie who loved his job. “How about you come back around ten tonight? I should have everything ready by then.”

I paid half up front in cash, as usual. Maybe if I stopped by the bank I could get a loan for the rest before ten.

WHEN I GOT BACK TO THE APARTMENT, I WAS SURPRISED TO see Roxana there. She sat in a living-room chair, completely at ease, talking with Mab. Kane lay in what was becoming his customary place on the sofa, head on paws, ears pricked toward their conversation.