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“Why would you need to know how to hide?” he asked.

“Because there’s always someone, or something, bigger and badder than you are.”

“I can teach you how to hide, but I don’t know if I can learn how to kill.”

Where had I heard that before? Oh, I knew—Richard. But even he had learned how, in the end. “You’d be surprised what you can learn, Gil, if you have to.”

He hugged himself again. “I don’t think I want to learn how to kill people.”

“Now that,” I said, “is a different problem altogether.”

“I don’t want to,” he said.

I stared down at him. “Then don’t, but don’t let your squeamishness get any of my people killed.”

“It’s more likely to kill me.”

“True, but that’s your choice—get yourself killed if you want, but don’t bring harm to me or mine because of some moral high ground.”

“Would you really kill me for it?”

I knelt back in front of him. “You can stay with me and I’ll keep you safe, or die trying, but if you fuck up and cause the death of one of my leopards, or my friends, I will kill you. I don’t want you to be crying later and saying you didn’t understand. Because if you’ve earned it, I will shoot you while you beg me not to.”

“But who decides whether I deserve it?” he asked.

“I do.”

He stared up at me as if he weren’t sure if he was safer with me or without me. I watched him think it through and felt nothing, no pity. Because Gil the werefox was a liability. In a combat situation he was a fucking casualty waiting to happen. I was civilized enough to give him protection when he asked, but not civilized enough to pay in the blood of those I held dear. In that moment I knew I wasn’t a sociopath, because if I had been, I’d have kicked his ass out the door. Oh, hell, I’d have shot him and put him out of everyone’s misery. Instead I offered him a hand, and pulled him to his feet.

“Do you understand the rules?” I asked.

“I understand,” he whispered.

“You willing to live by them?”

He gave one small nod.

“You willing to die by them?”

He took a shaky breath, then gave another nod.

I smiled and knew it never reached my eyes. “Then welcome to the club, and keep your head down. There’s some business we have to take care of tonight. You can come along.” Even I wasn’t sure if that was an invitation or a threat.

47

THERE WAS STILL a thread of light in the sky, like a slender golden ribbon, glowing against the push of dark, dark clouds when we parked in the back of the Circus of the Damned. The back parking lot was for employees. It was dark, bare, not the least bit entertaining, unlike the front, which was like a carnival. I’d driven past the bright lights and dramatic posters without a second glance.

“Did the clowns up front have fangs?” Caleb asked.

It wasn’t until he asked that that I realized that none of them had ever been to the Circus. I undid my seat belt and leaned around so I could see him in the middle section of seats. He was sitting pressed against the door with Merle’s broad shoulders crowding him. Nathaniel was on the other side of Merle. Cherry and Zane were in the back seats with Gil. Micah was sitting up front with me. Until we knew my house wasn’t a free-fire zone we’d keep everybody together. Rafael had sent two new bodyguards over, but they’d arrived just as we were leaving, and I wouldn’t make anyone in the Jeep move. They followed us, not happy, but taking orders, which was good.

I answered Caleb’s question. “Yeah, the big spinning clowns on top of the sign have fangs.”

“I saw a poster for zombie raisings. Do you do that?” Merle asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t believe in using God-given gifts for entertainment purposes.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” he said.

I shrugged. “Sorry, I’m a little touchy about shit like that. I don’t approve of a lot of things some of my fellow animators do for money.”

“You raise the dead for money,” Caleb said.

I nodded. “Yeah, but I’ve turned down more money than I’ve taken.”

“Turned down, why?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Local money who wanted to have