Black Tarn is silent for a while as Scarper blasts down the country roads toward the recycling center. Then she says, "I met the Stormcat."
Scarper almost hits a yield sign.
"The Stormcat's dead," he says.
No she's not, because you just talked to her. But before you can say anything—
"The Garou of Broad Brook are dead," Black Tarn says. "But the spirit of that place lives on. I think the Stormcat needs help."
"Actually," you say, "she—"
"You wandered into the Umbra again, B.T.," Scarper says, cutting you off.
Black Tarn grabs your old parka and whispers in your ear. "The Stormcat needs your help, Cale Falck X. They think I've lost myself in dreams, but sometimes someone finds me there. The Broad Brook Caern fell, but its spirit endures."
You nod. Broad Brook, Northampton, the Stormcat. Everything is pointing in one direction.
The van lurches to a rattling halt outside the recycling center.
"Clay wants to talk with you," Scarper says, his voice carefully composed. "'Where is that boy?' You know how he is." A momentary, flawless impression of Clay's raspy voice, offered without enthusiasm or sardonic humor. Scarper's eyes are red-rimmed, his skin gray and drooping. He's in his fifties but he looks seventy right now. The galliard doesn't move from the driver's seat or try to roll the van into the garage, so you drop down onto the snow and head for the main door. It's still half-open, letting the cold in. When you glance back at Scarper, he's banging on the steering wheel.
"What happened, man?" he asks Black Tarn. "We ruled these lands. We were kings! We were…fucking…kings…" He's weeping as you head inside and yank on the door until it latches.
You can smell Clay as you move through the living room and down the hall. He's in your room. There's nothing left of your bedroom except the werewolf. Everything else has been destroyed.
What about my computer? I need to research everything I've learned!
Tell me that my extra clothes survived, at least. I need to walk around normal people and blend in.
My only concern is Clay right now. What's left of him?
"So Clay, you're a trash bag full of pudding. Did it feel good to wreck my stuff?"
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