Now.” And then we were running—sprinting across the flagstones, down another set of stairs, steeper and shorter. I felt a shiver of cold as we ran past an alley. We entered a cloistered passageway. He pulled open the first of several heavy oak doors lining the cloister and then snapped a quick question to Cordelia. “How many?” “Mannus, two pups, and a young bitch,” she replied, catching up to us. “No adults?” She shook her head, her mouth curled. “Not a one.” If my mate had planned on taking us to a large classroom, he was out of luck. Behind door number one was nothing more than a small stairwell. In front of us were eight steps, each riser’s edge capped by metal, leading to a three-foot linoleum landing and from there on to another set of stairs that ended at the second floor. Trowbridge put a hand on the creaky, wooden banister and cocked an ear to listen.
