The werewolves broke in while Hannah Snow was in the psychologist's office. She was there for the obvious reason. "I think I'm going insane," she said quietly as soon as she sat down. "And what makes you think that?" The psychologist's voice was neutral, soothing. Hannah swallowed. Okay, she thought. Lay it on the line. Skip the paranoid feeling of being followed and the ultra-paranoid feeling that someone was trying to kill her, ignore the dreams that woke her up screaming. Go straight to the really weird stuff. "I write notes," she said flatly. "Notes." The therapist nodded, tapping a pencil against his lips. Then as the silence stretched out: "Uh, and that bothers you?" "Yes." She added in a jagged rush, "Everything used to be so perfect. I mean, I had my whole life under control. I'm a senior at Sacajawea High. I have nice friends; I have good grades. I even have a scholarship fromUtahState for next year. And now it's all falling apart... because of me. Because I'm going crazy." "Because you write notes?" the psychologist said, puzzled. "Um, poison pen letters, compulsive memo taking... ?" "Notes like these." Hannah leaned forward in her chair and dropped a handful of crumpled scraps of paper on his desk. Then she looked away