Lilith tilted her head and matched Jane's smile. "Wendigo is a brute on a leash," she said. "He can be controlled. You don' need to fear him."

"That's a matter of opinion," Newt said from his perch at the back of the bus.

Lilith spun toward him and speared him with an icy glare. "I don't recall askin' your opinion."

Newt stirred his beer bottle in a circle, watching the yellow dregs slosh about. "Then let's examine the facts, shall we? Wendigo, seven feet tall of muscle, claws, and personality disorders. Jane, teenage girl, ninety pounds if she's soaking wet, whose only experience is losin' fights on purpose. Bein' afraid doesn't sound like such a bad idea."

"Jus' because you're a coward doesn't mean she has to be, too," Lilith spat.

"Bein' a coward's kept me alive," Newt replied. "I thought that might interest you. But, hey, if you think you can heal up from anything he throws at you, more power to you. We aren't all so lucky."