The Wolf's Pewter Priestess

by Michele Ryan

  “Will it always be this way for you?” Clara voice trembled slightly, and her stomach soured at the distaste of him having sex…no, servicing the females of his pack.

  “Till I mate,” he replied gruffly.

  “And it’s obvious, Grant’s mother is not your mate.”

  “I’d rip her head off her neck before marking her,” he spat.

  “The full moon is approaching,” she reminded him, hating the fact it meant he’d leave her to fulfill his responsibilities.

  “It’ll be a cold day in Hades before I touch Marbella again,” he stated. Deep down, Clara knew he meant it. “She can burn in hell for all I care.”

  She couldn’t blame him, considering she had already thought about casting a pox spell on the evil woman who had birthed Ezra’s son. The woman didn’t deserve a child’s love, after everything Clara learned from Miss Dell.

  They continued walking, slowly making their way to the main entrance of the park. She noticed there were more people out milling around then normal. Clara suspected the shock of the zombie invasion started to ebb and people felt safe enough to come back out into the night.

  “Tell me something about yourself, something very few are aware of and I will also tell you something of me very few are aware of,” Ezra said.

  “I miss home immensely,” she stated, aware her Créole–French accent was more prominent because of her memories.

  “And home is where exactly?”

  Her gaze moved to his face. More importantly the sexy smile tugging at his lips. “I figure you already know.”

  “Wouldn’t have been a very good Pinkerton agent if I wasn’t observant, my Créole queen,” he stated. “So, you know, if no one has told you, sometimes, especially when you are mad, your accent is more pronounced.”

  “I’ll make note of it and correct it going forward.”

  “Please don’t, with all these British accents surround me, yours reminds me of home.”

  Perhaps now instead of correcting her accent, she would allow it free rein.

  Only around him of course.

  Their conversation made her yearn to tell him what brought her so far from Louisiana. She hesitated, because of the circumstances surrounding it. Most people thought those who suffered conditions such as hers, also suffered mental deficit. It wasn’t true but attempting to change people’s perception of things often took lifetimes.

  “If you are willing to tell me, I would love to hear something others aren’t aware of,” she replied, knowing full well her admission was vague at best.

  “Grant showing up and surprising us all, doesn’t count?” He quirked a brow.

  “No, I am afraid not.” Clara needed—no—craved learning something deeper about the man who strolled beside her.

  “Many years ago,” he began, his voice somber and filled with sadness. “When I was first changed, I killed a young mother, leaving her fatherless child an orphan.”

  Clara stopped walking, causing Ezra to stop as well. The despair and pain she saw in his eyes had tears welling up in her own. She blinked them back, understanding when she spoke, her voice would break with the pain she felt. “It was an accident.”

  “It was,” he replied. Clara noticed his gaze never flickered from hers. “I could excuse it away, I suppose, saying I had no control of the beast lying beneath my skin, but it would just be that, an excuse.”

  “You did not though, did you?” she probed.

  “I was a Pinkerton. I fought in the Civil War, was an officer in the Union Army under Grant because I believed the ideals of owning another human being is morally and ethically wrong.” Ezra ran a hand through his dark, shoulder length hair. “I gave an oath to uphold the law, to protect the weak. I did neither that night. I’m no better than those I was sent to capture.”

  He had, she suspected, recited his attributes for his benefit, not hers. Seemed to her he needed a reminder of his most important job, his current one. “You’ve seemed to have forgotten you are also a member of the Dreadfuls,” she added, not missing the look of disgust passing over his features.

  “Yes, please let’s not forget the fucked-up group of freaks I am now indebted to,” he snarled.

  “The group of individuals who saved the people of London, six months ago,” she reminded him. “Without your brotherhood, England and perhaps the world would be under Lucien’s control at this moment. It didn’t happen though, because the group, which you speak of with such disdain, stopped them.”

  He shook his head before he headed farther into the park.

  Oh, no, they were not done with this conversation. “Or perhaps it’s not the Dreadfuls you find so distasteful, but your wolf man status?”

  His shoulders stiffen.

  “It was an accident, Ezra.”

  “It does not make me any less guilty of taken a mother away from her daughter,” he confessed.

  “How long will you hold onto your guilt, Ezra?”

  “Forever,” Ezra assured her.

  As they spoke, she slowly began to suspect who the orphan was. Although it was not until Ezra mentioned the sex of the child, did she put two and two together. After taking a deep breath, she moved quickly, to catch up to him. “Does Miss Jemmy know?” She placed her hand on his arm, slowing his pace.

  “She does,” he answered, refusing to look at her. Instead his gaze focused on the looming acreage of Hyde park. “Or at least I believe she does. She hasn’t said anything to me, anyway.”

  “And the rest of the team?” Clara inquired, although she already suspected they all knew.

  “Aware,” he answered, removing her touch from his arm.

  “Forgiveness from Miss Jemmy could help in absolving you of your guilt.”

  “Can one possibly forgive another for murdering their parent? I think not. I suspect a daughter needs her mother during her formative years. Instead she’s been stuck as a servant, dealing with the dark, scary creatures of the night.”

  “Obviously, you don’t know Jemmy very well. She cares for all you, deeply. I suspect she considers all of you, including you Ezra, as beloved uncles.”

  He snorted. “We’re dangerous creatures, Clara. Do not be fooled by Jonah finding his Beloved or how they reacted to Grant.”

  “You do not give them enough credit. Or yourself for that matter. Creatures, yes all of you are, but underneath, you’re also men who at some point in your lives had families, experienced trust. I would even go as far as saying each of you at some point has even experienced love. None of you are evil. You just think you are.”

  He snorted. “You’re awful trusting of mankind, considering they either drowned or burned your people at the stake less than two hundred years ago.”

  “What people do not understand, they fear. The Salem Witch Trials were a perfect example of such. Yet, we’re not talking about me, are we?”

  Clara lifted her skirts in her good hand before stepping down off the sidewalk and navigating her way across the path away from Ezra. He would follow.

  As she released her hold on her fabric when she stepped onto the curb on the other side Clara felt it. The darkness.

  Black magick.

  Hints of it and the person who cast the spell remained, faintly. All witches left some sort of marker when casting a spell and witches associated with Covens often had addition markers. Her sensed told her this was the work of an individual.

  Softly she chanted a spell, watching as the markers showed themselves to her. The blue aurora trail told her it was a female, inexperienced. Possibly a witch coming into her own, maybe?

  “Do you sense anything?” Ezra appeared at her side.

  “All I sense is whoever cast this specific spell was a female.” Tilting her head to the side, Clara continued to read the auroras surrounding the entrance. “Novice at most. However, who they called forth is powerful.” The tingle set up in her arm as she went deeper into the park. She’d seen this before. The magnitude of the conjure made her nervous. The trace edges of the l
ingering spell seemed almost familiar to her, reminding her of Granmé Marie.

  Impossible, since Granmé had never been to Europe and had passed almost six years ago.

  Ezra walked away from her, moving through the great white stone pillars of Aspley Gate and crouched down, inspecting the dirt road.

  She finally saw it, saw who had been called forth and it was someone known to her. A chill ran down her spine as fear took root in her heart. No. It can’t be. She’d gone to France, been free of his pull. How had he found her? Or had he? Could it be coincidence? No, Clara didn’t believe in happenstance.

  The Baron has returned.

  Shuddering as a wave of dread washed over her, she waved her hand, dissipating the spell. The color disappeared slowly, removing all traces of the Baron’s evilness. Her stomach soured, and bile filled the back of her throat. How had he gotten here? Why had he come?

  For me. He’s come for me. Had the Baron somehow sensed the spell used to free Jonah from Lucian Wright’s clutches months ago? It would be the only logical explanation she could come up with.

  She hoped either Omer had knowledge of how to remove the man’s evil from the earth or Emmitt’s library held a clue. It would just require further research on her part. And if they don’t? She’d be forced to run. She wouldn’t endanger the lives of those around her, no matter how much they didn’t believe they were worth saving.

  “Ezra?” she called, her voice catching as the anxiety overwhelmed her, momentarily stealing her ability to speak. Clearing her throat, she forced it down before continuing. “Did you find anything?”

  “Find something, no. Smell something, yes.” He growled before standing up and inhaling the cool, nighttime air.

  Ezra’s supernatural ability allowed him to move quickly. Not as fast as Jonah, but still, she no sooner blinked, and he was down the path, seemingly catching a scent she could not.

  “Ezra,” she hollered, hurrying along the lane toward him.

  “It seems,” he said as she approached him. “Whoever cast the spell had a wolf shifter with them. I smell its blood.”

  “Do you think, the wolf is hurt?”

  “No. My kind aren’t the easiest to capture or hurt, my Creole Queen. Whoever was here, and cast the spell, it’s no coincidence and it was done on purpose.” Ezra captured her elbow and led her from the park. “We need to get back to the mansion post haste to inform Mr. Cause of our findings.”

  “Our first order of business should be looking in on Grant,” she softly reminded him.

  “Shit,” he groaned in frustration. “I forgot about him.”

  “You didn’t forget about him, Ezra. You’ve encountered a slightly more pressing matter, like saving the world, yet again.”

  “Grant needs me,” he stated. “More so than the Dreadfuls.”

  “You can do both,” she assured him as they exited the park and hurried back to the mansion. “You find Dr. Brew when we arrive. Grant’s examination should be complete and I’m sure you’ll want the results from the good doctor. I’ll locate Omer and Jonah, who will quickly pull together the teams and we can figure out the next steps. You can join us, with Grant, once you have assured yourself of your son’s wellbeing.”

  “I am not sure if it would be a smart move to bring Grant into our fold,” Ezra argued.

  “Nonsense. It will help take his mind off his troubles, assure you he is safe, so you may work,” she countered. “I am sure by now; your son is completely and utterly enthralled by the Dreadfuls and the Misfits.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt,” he replied as they continued at a brisk pace.

  Chapter Three

  Ezra took the steps two at a time when they arrived at the manor. Clara had been right, he needed to see his son first then he would attend the meeting with her and the group. As she explained it on the way back, someone called forth Baron Samedi. The man had little dominion over the living. In fact, he greeted those who died and made sure the corpses of loved ones couldn’t be raised by a necromancer. Where was this guy when we needed him six months ago? She also claimed the man could be summoned with a simple prayer and some rum, since the Baron had an affinity for it.

  One striking thing he did notice while Clara spoke, had been the way her voice deepened, and her natural Creole-French accent pushed through. He knew it very well. In fact, last time he heard it, he’d been passing through New Orleans, Louisiana on his way to find a suspect for a Pinkerton case he’d been working on. The one thing he loved more than a bowl of gumbo alongside a plate of etouffee was a dark-skinned, sexy-as-sin Creole woman, like his Clara.

  Mine.

  Ezra tucked the wolf’s declaration away, as he stopped in front of the door leading to Grant’s quarters. The hushed tones of Dr. Brew pushed back some of Ezra’s initial fear. He knocked once then entered the space. His son sat on the bed, a bit wide-eyed from whatever type of conversation they’d been having. Jerome sat beside the bed holding one of his journals. “I need to speak with Grant. Find out...things. You too, doc.”

  “Of course,” Dr. Brew stated. “Come on in.”

  “Dad!” Grant grinned. “Dr. Brew was telling me about Mr. Tinnin. I like him.”

  Ezra didn’t know how to process his son’s words. He liked the deranged man? The foul creature didn’t have a kind inch to his soul. Yet, his son liked him. “That’s good, boy. Did Dr. Brew explain the science of it?”

  Grant nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Ezra took a seat beside his son. “Perhaps we should take this budding friendship slow, son.”

  Jerome gave him a sheepish look, almost embarrassed by their conversation. “It’s my fault. Grant has a way of making people open up and feel comfortable.”

  “Nothing to fret about. Grant, do you want to stay with us while we speak about what you’ve endured?” He wouldn’t upset his son any more than absolutely necessary.

  “I’m fine, dad.”

  “Yes,” Jerome added. “He is. Nothing we can’t work through and talk about. I saw no physical markings or damages.” He cleared his throat. “I have tried to explain to Grant his physical response to what happened, is normal under the circumstances. It’s a function, plain and simple. Nothing he did was wrong, and he shouldn’t feel ashamed or dirty because of it.”

  However, what other types of trauma could lie just under the surface with his son? God, how had he gotten here with his boy? Had he have known Grant’s mother would treat him as such, Ezra wouldn’t have left Grant there. Although, he wasn’t sure if the house was the right place for him either.

  “He’s telling you the truth, son. Nothing you did was wrong.” He swallowed back what he’d wanted to say about Grant’s mother.

  “Yes, sir.” Though Grant said the words, Ezra didn’t think his son believed him.

  He supposed, it was his fault. He should have watched Marbella more. Protected his son more. He blamed himself for not continuing his duty over the last several months, but he also couldn’t leave Clara either. The thought of her knowing where he went, knotted his gut. Even if she couldn’t smell them on him, he could, and his wolf wouldn’t stand for it. So, Marbella had gone for the most vulnerable spot with him. Grant.

  Years ago, she’d done the same to him. He’d been bitten while following a suspect. Later, he’d come to realize the woman who’d birthed his son, had also been the wolf that bit him. In his eyes, she took advantage of that knowledge. Took advantage of the fact the minute he scented a female in heat, he’d be out of his mind with lust. He’d screw a knot in a tree, just to get the overwhelming lust clawing at his groin to go away. Three days a month he lost all ability to think. To resist. To abstain. And now, so would his son.

  “Do you have any questions?” Jerome hedged. “We were just about to speak about what to expect now and in the future, when you walked in, Ezra.”

  Grant shook his head, then screwed his face up, as though he’d been thinking too hard about the subject. “Well. Maybe.” He glanced between both men, and Ezr
a found himself holding his breath. “Will it always be...you know...like that? The last part felt good, but...bad.”

  Ezra glanced at Dr. Brew. “No, son. Not at all. It should’ve never been as you experienced. When you’re ready, you’ll understand. I swear it.” How did one explain the trappings of a woman, to a boy who shouldn’t be worried about getting his willie wet? Let alone becoming a father at the tender age of twelve?

  “You have nothing to fear when the time is right,” Jerome added.

  Grant seemed to contemplate what they said, “Okay, can we go back to the library now?”

  “Well, Miss Clara and I found some things of interest in the park we should talk about first. Tomorrow, after you’ve rested, you can explore the house. You’ve had a long eventful day, my boy.” Ezra knew Clara expected Grant to join them, but after all he’d been through, perhaps hearing what they’d be dealing with, wouldn’t be such a good idea for now.

  “Sure,” Grant answered, a hint of disappointment in his entered his voice.

  “How about on the full moon, we’ll spend the evening together. Hunting, howling at the moon.” Even to Ezra’s ears the idea sounded a bit boring.

  “You mean it?” Grant perked up. “We’ll be together?”

  Shit. Ezra rubbed his chest, right over his heart. For everything he could have said, all his son wanted was to spend time with him, and he’d been denying it all these years. He could kick his own ass. “I mean it. The whole night is yours whatever you want to do we’ll do.”

  Grant folded his hands in front of him. “I want to stay with you now. Grandmother too. I can’t go back. I won’t go back.” The edge of fear had an anxious trill entering his son’s voice. It ruffled Ezra’s hackles and made the need to kill the she-wolf even stronger.

  As much as he’d rather set Miss Dell and Grant up in a loft, the manor was the safest place to be. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

  “Thank you.” Grant sagged into the bed then yawned. “I’m glad we’re here now.”