by Mary Hughes
“And if she can’t?”
“Doesn’t matter. Stopping Rodolphe trumps a fine and jail time. Beside, Auntie’s been in jail before, protesting during the sixties.” She took out her phone.
“But why muddy the waters at all?” he said desperately. “You studied magic, right? Maybe you can find an amulet or premixed spell to lift my hex before the Enforcer even gets here.”
She gave him a penetrating stare. “How do you know about premixed spells?”
He opened his mouth, shut it again. He wanted—no more, he needed to be honest with her. But explaining would involve secrets he’d kept for decades. He gave up one precious truth. “My mother worked for a wizard when I was a pup. I learned it there.”
Strangely, revealing that to her felt…right.
“Oh.” Her stare eased and she put away the phone, easing the knot between his shoulders. “I can try.” She stared at him, tapping her chin. “I need to know what kind of hex she put on you. Since I can’t reveal it…” She waved vaguely, but he’d already known “reveal” was a spell. “You’ll have to tell me what happened. Better yet, show me.”
She strode to the middle of the store. “Show me everything. Where you stood, where Aunt Linda stood. What gestures she made. What she said.” As Sophia became absorbed in the problem, her confidence and expertise shone through. Admiration rose in him. She must have been one hell of a witch.
He came to his feet and followed her, soundlessly from habit. Her movement had stirred the air, filling it with her delicate scent. Nearing her, he instinctively reached out, a man’s desire to touch and a wolf’s need to possess. He pulled back at the last instant. “Everything?”
She jumped at his voice. “How did you get there?” Almost immediately she shook her head. “Wolf, yeah. Never mind. Yes, as clearly as you can recall.”
He showed her, including Linda’s little weaving gestures.
“That’s really good.” She stared again, her gaze as penetrating as a truth awl. “Almost a perfect bur hex. If you had magic, you could have really cast that.”
His face heated. “Good memory?” Her gaze sharpened even more. He smiled innocently.
Her gaze dived to his mouth. She must have liked what she saw because her irises dilated, her nostrils flaring slightly. Her lips parted. She licked them, her sweet pink tongue caressing glossy lips. His wolf approved.
And somehow he was kissing her again.
He crushed her to him, her small body soft and warm, her mouth tasting as bright and crisp as crushed mint leaves, her scent flowering like jasmine…so female. So…his.
His?
He pulled away and saw his hands entwined in her hair, the glossy dark ribbons around his fingers. His wolf had done that.
She opened her remarkable eyes. Stars stirred in their depths, and his mouth throbbed to take her again… “You’ve got to stop doing that.” Her voice was husky, like honeyed whiskey.
You started it with your lip licking warred with I can’t stop and I want to kiss you forever. None of those were acceptable responses, so he forced himself to untwine and step back. “Did that tell you anything?” His face heated. “About the spell, I mean.”
She cleared her throat. “Yes and no. What you did was a bur hex—but a simple bur only makes you break out in hives or lose your hair, not mess with your intrinsic shifter magic.” She bit her lip, teeth so white against the plump, rosy skin.
He took an unguarded step toward her, needing to put his mouth on her, but stopped himself in time.
Still, she caught him staring and must’ve seen his hunger because she blushed. “Something just occurred to me. I was looking for Auntie with my third eye…well, you don’t need the details. But did the spell hit objects? Bounce?”
So he had to explain about the mirror and the picture. As he spoke she pursed her luscious lips in thought and it was all he could do not to take them up on their ripe invitation.
When he finished, she nodded. “The mirror or picture must have changed the hex. Let’s check out the picture first.” She walked toward the cabinet in the back of the store.
He watched her move, savoring her efficient grace. “You were really good, weren’t you? Princess aside, you worked at your magic.”
She stopped at the pictures, her back still to him, but her rolled spine said she was embarrassed. “Yes.”
“Why? You wouldn’t need it for politics.”
She glanced at him, her cheek flushed a rosy pink. Damn, every time he saw that, he wanted to lick her rosy skin…everywhere she was rosy.
She cleared her throat and took out a daguerreotype. “After I retired from the Council, I was going to go into research. This picture?”
“No. The photograph of you.” He glided to her side. “My lieutenant Mason’s into research too.”
“Your beta?” She put back the daguerreotype. Lifted out her own photo and frowned at it.
Noah snorted. “Beta implies second. Mason could lead the pack as well as me, maybe better. He doesn’t want to. But he’s definitely not second class.”
“I didn’t mean any slur by it.” She coughed. “I know wild wolf packs are more like a family. That the fighting and hierarchy are a wolves-in-captivity thing.”
He considered her. She really was remarkable, both a good brain and a good heart. “Wild is wild and civilization is civilization. Even a city as small as Matinsfield qualifies as a wolves-in-captivity thing.”
“I’m sorry.” She paused, and he could see her curiosity warring with her innate sensitivity and tact. “You don’t have to answer this, but you mentioned more wolves like Killer. Is it worse than that? Do you have a lot of fighting to quash, as alpha?”
“Being new makes it worse. The pack is still testing me. Sure, it’s mostly at the instigation of the old alpha’s lieutenants, but once tempers flare I have to stop it, and it doesn’t matter who started it…” Damn, he was babbling. What about her made him yap like an excited pup?
She reached to give his hand a brief squeeze—the kind that made his hand happy and his cock jealous. She said, “The hex must make it doubly hard.”
Oh yes, that was what. Her obvious interest in him. The true interest a friend would show.
Or a mate.
He clamped down on that. Him and a witch? Never, not ever.
But he wanted her. He met her starry eyes, fringed with those long lashes, her gaze filled with sympathy. He wanted to dive in and drown… He shifted to watch her talk, her glossy pink lips shaping words that made him swell with the desire to kiss her again. Kisses wouldn’t hurt, would they? Maybe a little meaningless hot sex…?
His whole body flushed, fever rising, pulse racing. Meaningless? Sex would never be meaningless with Sophia.
She stepped back, her eyes wide and her fingers rolling her pearls. She’d set down the frame. “There’s nothing special about the picture. Let’s check the mirror.” She hurried past him, headed for the draped oval. Her face was ruddy.
He clenched his teeth. Idiot. Every stupid lustful thought must have shown clearly on his face.
Bigger idiot. Sophia was checking out, alone, the mirror that had warped a simple hex into something dangerous.
He rushed after her.
Only to be stopped by a loud hiss. Noah’s hackles sprang high.
A big orange lump sat in front of the mirror, emerald eyes narrowed at them both.
The cat hadn’t been there a moment before. Noah would have smelled him. Bloody claws, he would have felt all that attitude miles away.
Sophia bent to pat the cat, then straightened and raised a hand to remove the sheet from the mirror.
The cat jumped to its feet and hissed again.
She paused, hand still out. “What’s wrong, Mr. Kibbles?”
“You talk to cats?” Noah worked hard to keep the growl out of his voice and was mostly successful.
“Talk to them, and pay attention to them, if they’re as smart as Mr. Kibbles.” She lowered her hand and focused o
n the cat, who again sat primly beneath the mirror and started washing his foreleg. “I shouldn’t touch the mirror? I need to look at it, though. It’s important.”
Noah glided to her side. “I wouldn’t trust the word of a cat.” When Mr. Kibbles paused washing to narrow his eyes, Noah added, “Not just you. I wouldn’t trust any cat.”
“He’s not a cat,” Sophia said.
Noah grimaced. “Looks like a cat. Smells like a cat. Snippy like a cat.” As King, he’d had words with Mr. Fat Kibbles.
“Mr. Kibbles is Auntie’s familiar.”
“How’s that different from cat?”
“Familiars are carriers of arcane knowledge. When they warn, you listen.”
Noah crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, if he’s so smart, why is he still a cat?”
“He doesn’t have to be. They’re born as their animal, but later they can become human, or any intermediary form between.”
He stared open-mouthed at her. “You’re not saying he’s a shifter?” He was vaguely offended. He had nothing in common with a snippy cat.
“Not exactly. Familiars can only change shape after name-bonding.”
“Name-bonding?” Ice chilled Noah’s blood. “What’s that?”
“When the witch gives the familiar its true name. It shows that the witch understands the honor of being in partnership with such a wise being.”
“I see.” Something about that disturbed him deeply. “What if name-bonding doesn’t happen?”
“Well, the familiar is locked in animal form until named. If the witch comes into her full power without naming the familiar…? It’s only happened a handful of times.” She paused, looking unhappy.
Cold fingers of dread kneaded his stomach. “What?”
“The familiar’s brain tries to expand to adult size. But locked in its smaller animal cranium…well.” She cleared her throat. “Within a few days the familiar goes insane, then dies.”
The dread dug into his chest and exploded into horror. If that happened to his beloved—
Noah straightened suddenly, hurling away his half-formed idea before it could become whole. He was a wolf. Wolves didn’t have familiars.
“What’s wrong?” Sophia’s star-shot eyes filled with concern.
“Nothing.” Immediate distraction was in order. “Do you have a familiar? Let me guess, it’s a cat. Where is he?”
Her mouth curled crookedly. “She stomped off in a huff when I gave up magic. I think she’s sulking somewhere in the Bahamas.”
“If you’re bonded, how can she leave?”
“Bonding doesn’t mean slave. Kat is independently wealthy—she made some shrewd investments early on. They’re wise, Noah. When a familiar takes the time to communicate, it pays to listen.” Sophia eyed the mirror then the fat orange fur ball. “But in this case, Mr. Kibbles, we need to know how the mirror affected Auntie’s hex. It’s for the sake of Noah’s pack.” She reached for the sheet.
A dark shiver of foreboding rolled over Noah, an earthquake of premonition.
He’d only felt it once before—the day magic had destroyed his life.
Instinct grabbed him. He stepped in to seize Sophia’s wrist, stopping her from uncovering the mirror.
Their bodies met.
Her eyes flew up, darkening. She pressed her lips together, drawing his gaze. She had the prettiest pink lips.
While he was distracted, the sheet slithered from the mirror.
Light struck it, a bright flare. Power hit him at the same time with an almost physical impact. Sophia flinched.
“Damn it.” He grabbed her in both arms and spun, as if he could shield her from a magical attack. The mirror glowed faintly in his periphery. “First, your aunt hexing me, now this.” This was what he got for being attracted to a witch. He released her to snag the sheet and toss it back over the mirror. “Damn witches.”
She drew herself straight. “Did you want me to help you or not? Because you’re sure not acting like it.”
He stilled immediately. Closed his eyes. Breathed deep. “I’m sorry. That wizard my mother worked for…something happened because of the magic. Something bad.” He opened his eyes. “I want your help, Sophia. I need it. But.” His gaze cut to the mirror and he scowled. “I don’t want you near that thing.”
“That’s not logical.”
He turned his scowl on her. “I don’t care about being logical. I care about you being safe. I don’t want you near the mirror, and I especially don’t want you anywhere near that Rodolphe, with him so obviously hungry for revenge.”
“Hungry?” She clasped her pearls and frowned. Then her eyes flew to his, her pupils constricted to pinpricks.
* * *
Sophia stared at Noah. He was right. Rodolphe didn’t just want revenge, he was hungry for it. Hungry, like the Hungry Ghost.
Her chest hollowed out. Stars and moon, if Rodolphe was the Hungry Ghost, not only she and Noah were in danger from him. If the Ghost found the pieces of the Key, the world as they knew it would end.
This was no time to worry about saving her aunt some money and inconvenience. She had to call the Council.
She pulled out her phone and began thumbing through her contacts.
“Sophia, don’t.” Noah looked more desperate than a five-thousand-dollar fine and six months in lock up would merit.
She’d have to worry about that later. “Rodolphe is more dangerous than I knew. We need serious help. We need a Council Enforcer.”
“Even with your aunt facing a fine and jail time?”
“She brought it on herself.”
“Marlowe brought it on. My pack member, my responsibility.”
“I’m sorry. You may get fined too. But lives are at stake. More.” She found the entry and pushed connect call.
“But Sophia…” Anguish showed in his silver eyes. “What if a mundane witnessed the hexing?”
Sophia frowned at him, the phone ringing in her hand. “What do you mean?”
“A lady walked in at dawn. At dawn, Sophia.”
The implications hit her just as the call connected. “Council general office. How may I direct your call?”
Sophia’s head reeled. A woman—a customer—had come in at dawn, just as the hex would have taken effect. Had she seen Noah transform? Sophia palmed her forehead. Well of course she had. There was that extreme surprise that had bled onto the etheric. And if the woman was shocked by a transformation, that meant she wasn’t a witch.
A mundane. Auntie, unintentionally or not, had revealed real magic to a mundane.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
Any witch or wizard who, by action or inaction, doth betray the existence of true magic, shall suffer capital punishment.
The Council was not known to be lenient on that. They’d hang anybody and everybody. Literally. Because if mundanes found out about magic, it would cease to exist.
Magic was about possibilities. Like poor Schroedinger’s cat, sitting inside that box, both alive and not—until some chump opened the box and looked inside. The act of looking collapsed the magical possibilities into one mundane reality.
Nutshell version—magic only worked if the box stayed shut.
It was why all three magical types were so secretive about it. Shifters were beings of magic. They couldn’t manipulate it, but they’d cease shifting if it disappeared. Familiars were conduits of magical wisdom but couldn’t manipulate it either. They’d be locked as their animals if magic ceased to be.
Only witches could “touch” magic. They had an inborn ability to feel magic and shape it without opening the box. Nobody knew why. A gene, an environmental factor, neural fields, witches as elevated beings, take your pick.
Sophia thought witches were just crazy enough to believe in all possibilities.
“Hello? Who’s there, please?”
Aunt Linda, while not known for having her head firmly on her shoulders, still had a head. Sophia couldn’t say that if the Council got wind of this.
&n
bsp; “Sorry.” Sophia clapped the phone to her ear. “Sorry, I misdialed. Tech misfire, you know how it is.” She quickly ended the call.
Okay, her aunt was safe, at least for now. But Sophia knew that meant it was her against Rodolphe—alone.
No, Noah would try to help. But the next time, the wizard wouldn’t be caught off-guard. Which meant Noah was in danger, unless she could protect him. Her breath froze.
Of all the terrors facing her, Auntie’s danger, Rodolphe’s return, the possibility of Rodolphe being the Hungry Ghost, Noah being in danger beat them all.
How could she protect Noah? More, how could she protect him without magic?
* * *
The morning Sophia’s aunt went missing, a dozen hours before Sophia entered Linda’s bookstore, a raven spread his wings and caught an updraft, soaring into the dazzling first-morning light.
This was the day.
Three nights ago, Raven’s master had finally revealed himself. After two and a half decades waiting, Raven rejoiced at the surge of magic of his witch. He’d flown two straight days, chafing each night as he was forced to rest. But he knew he wasn’t far now. Today was the day.
Today, he’d find his master.
Today, the young wizard would bestow Raven with his true name, the name he should have had decades ago—if not for the dark time.
Four-year-old Raven was hunting when he was captured. Hooded. Taken somewhere cold and dank. Something horrible was done to him that perverted his bond and loyalty to his master.
Released and returned home, Raven wanted to scream, heartsick at what had happened. But he was locked in his animal form. He’d tried to caw the problem, but his master, also four, was too young to understand.
A week later the dark witches came. A cyclone of magic rose up between Raven and his master. Raven clawed to get to the boy. But the need was more than loyalty, a dark urgency that made Raven scrabble. Dangerous, tainted… He’d have resisted, but he felt the boy’s fear through the furious fighting. He flew toward his master with everything he had, everything he was.
Hard magic pushed him away. Royal magic. Even using all the secrets he knew, it wasn’t enough to combat that mature power.
