“Silver and wolf’s bane—aconite—have historically been used as effective weapons against werewolves. Interestingly, we think this application was inspired by the use of lunar caustic, also known as silver nitrate, in the treatment of early rabies cases, when physicians would apply heated rods to cauterize—”

Shelby rose, putting her hand on my upper arm in a gesture that was simultaneously soothing and possessive. “Alex, sweetie, as fascinating as the whole history of lycanthropy is, how about we table it for now and start in with how you’re going to save all our lives, yeah?”

“Ah, sorry,” I said, glancing her way. Her eyes were narrowed, and her attention was fixed on Cooper as tightly as a snake would fixate on a mouse. I looked back to Cooper. “Occupational hazard. Also, I find science less upsetting than thinking about how bad the situation could get.”

“Well, this situation is fair distressing, so I can’t say I blame you for that,” said Cooper. “Shelby. You’re looking lovely, as always.”

“Cooper,” said Shelby, in a flat tone. “Nice to see you showed up. Missed you at Jack’s funeral.”

Cooper looked uncomfortable. I just loved walking into interpersonal situations I knew nothing about. I wondered whether this was how Shelby felt when dealing with my family. Probably.

“Finish explaining your treatment, Price,” said Riley.

“Yes, right,” I said, grateful for the save. “Silver nitrate, applied to properly cleaned and sterilized wounds, can act as a crude antibiotic and a good way to reduce the live viral agents in the area. Wolf’s bane, also known as aconite, has a negative effect on the health of the virus. We’re still trying to figure out why. Not that it matters much. If it works, it works.” I’d seen pictures of viral cultures that had been treated with pure aconite. They were blasted wastelands of broken cells, post-apocalyptic and incapable of supporting life. A dose that undiluted would kill a human, of course, although I’d heard rumors of cryptozoologists in Africa who had treated an infected elephant with a massive injection of crushed aconite flowers. The elephant had lived, and hadn’t become a werewolf. So that was something.

“So you just feed a person silver and toxic flowers?”

“Not quite. We make a tincture of ground silver, aconite, ketamine, mercury, and rabies vaccine, which can be given to the afflicted person at any point prior to their first transformation—so within twenty-eight days of exposure, although earlier is always better. The treatment involves four doses in total, given at two-day intervals. It’s . . . well, ‘toxic’ doesn’t really cover it. It’s incredibly poisonous, and difficult to make. If you get the proportions even slightly off, you run the risk of cardiac arrest or simple overdose.”

“But it works,” pressed Cooper.

“It can work,” I said. “Part of the problem is that we don’t have a good way of knowing whether someone has been infected before we start treatment. Only one person in five will actually be infected. That’s a lot of false negatives. Out of the people who have received this treatment and lived, all but one have turned out just fine.” I didn’t mention the people who had died. That would just complicate things.

“And that one?” pressed Riley.

“Werewolf,” I said. “Maybe the treatment doesn’t work at all. Maybe he was the only one who was actually infected—even with the size of our sample pool, the inability to test for preexisting infection means we don’t know. But all the lab work supports this as a prophylactic treatment, and it’s better than sitting back doing nothing. Before you ask, no, we don’t have a test that tells us which way it’s going to go before people either cross the finish line into safety or transform into giant wolf-monsters and start trying to eat their former friends and loved ones. You roll the dice and you get what you get.”

“Did you bring the materials you’d need for this treatment?” asked Cooper, sounding anxious. I thought about the members of the Society who’d been bitten and were now under quarantine, waiting to see whether they would live or die. A treatment—even one that stood a chance of killing them—would probably be the most welcome thing in the world.

I nodded. “I did. It’s part of why Shelby arranged for us to be extracted from the airport. It’s hard to explain to the nice customs agents why you’re flying with a mason jar full of mercury and a bunch of dried aconite flowers. Fresh would be better, of course, but aconite doesn’t grow on this continent.”

“That’s what you think,” said Cooper. I blinked at him. He shrugged. “Some idiots decided to import their pretty flower gardens from England during colonization. We’ve got an issue with endemic invasive aconite plants. Most of the time we root them up and burn them to keep them from spreading further, but if you need fresh flowers, we’ll get you fresh flowers.”

“It’s spring; they may not be blooming yet,” I said. “Leaves and roots will do just as well, especially if there’s a chemistry set around here that I can use.”

“They’ll be blooming,” said Cooper. “Don’t know how they behave in their home ecosystem, but here, they’re damn near unstoppable.”

“There’s a medical station nearby,” said Riley. “It’s meant for wildlife triage and emergency care, and we basically control it. You can use that. I figure the equipment used to make snake antivenin should be good enough for you to cook up your ‘tincture.’”

“It should be, yes,” I said, trying to project a level of confidence that I didn’t feel. My mother was the medic: she was the one who brewed the tinctures and mashed up the ingredients for the poultices. I was better with her sort of work than either of my sisters, and could generally be counted on to mix a simple remedy, but making enough anti-lycanthropy treatment for a continent was well beyond my skills, especially given the toxicity of the ingredients in question. I was going to have to be more careful than I’d ever been before, or I was going to get somebody killed.

Then again, that sentence could describe this entire trip. No one wanted me here but Shelby, and yet I was the only one with a working treatment for lycanthropy, which made me at least partially responsible for the lives of everyone around me. Most of them already didn’t trust me as far as they could throw me. Oh, this was going to be great fun.