Nico found Daaren cleaning the kitchen table, and placed a little metal disc on it with a click.
“What’s that?”
“Tax plaque. Has our telephone number, too, so if you get caught again some other full moon, the pound calls.”
Daaren didn’t touch it while working through the implications. “I won’t wear a collar.”
“I can fix it to a bandana. Which still goes round the neck...”
He sighed. “It works. Do me a favour and don’t use a red one, though.”
“What is it with you and red?”
He was wound up enough to snap. “Red is for targets!”