“Old lady?” She pauses long enough to be genuinely offended. “I’m—”
“Whatever. Just get off me, okay? If this is some weird sex thing, I am not interested. So get the fuck off”—I shove hard enough to make her gasp—“me.”
I push to my feet, and she stays where she is sitting in the long grass.
“Now get some help,” I say. “It looks like you need it.”
She doesn’t move, and I begin to wonder whether I’ve oversold it. If she breaks down crying, I’m not going to be able to just walk away, and I really can’t afford to deal with her right now. I must get back to Kate.
“Hey,” I say. “It’s fine, okay? No one got hurt. You just need help. Get to town and see a doctor.”
Still nothing. That’s when I realize she’s unnaturally still and sitting at an odd angle, as if she’d frozen midtumble when I pushed her off.
“Marchocias?” I say in a low voice. “Repossession is never cool.”
A sound behind me. The clearing of a throat. I turn to see Paige walking toward us. She’s shadowed in the growing dark, but there’s no mistaking that full figure and long curly hair.
“Paige,” I say with an exhale. I nod toward the woman. “Binding spell, huh?”
“No, and yes.”
I lift my brows. She keeps coming, and I can see her clearly now. The shape of her face, the wide-set eyes. Another step and . . .
“Paige?”
“As I said, no and yes. Yes to the binding spell. No to the name.”
I blink. Even when she’s close enough for my night-vision to see her clearly, I keep blinking. I’ve heard of doppelgangers—not a real thing in our world, as far as I know—and that’s what this seems like. As if someone took a photograph of Paige and recreated her, the result being about eighty percent correct. Like a wax museum figure, close enough that you recognize who it’s supposed to be, but kind of creepy and not-quite-right. This woman has Paige’s figure, her long dark hair, and her facial shape, but gray streaks her curls, and her eyes are an unusual red-brown.
I remember stories of a guy who could do this. He’d been an unknown supernatural type, either an anomaly or a very rare species that appeared sporadically in a bloodline. Yet the binding spell tells me this answer is much more prosaic.
A glamour spell requires that the person viewing it expects to see the person you’re impersonating. A play on perception rather than an actual transformation. I wasn’t expecting Paige quite so soon, but I am expecting her, so it would work.
“You don’t quite have it right,” I say as calmly as I can. “You could fool someone who doesn’t know Paige well, but it’s a little off. Either you’re working from an inferior representation, or your glamour spell isn’t quite right.”
“Glamour spell?” Her brows rise. “So it’s true, then. I’ve heard that I look like her. I didn’t entirely see it myself beyond the superficial. But if I temporarily fooled someone who knows her, then I will need to make more use of the resemblance. A dark witch who can pass for the leader of the supernatural council, wife to a Cabal CEO . . .” She smiles, and there is nothing of Paige in that smile. “Terribly useful.”
I keep my face impassive, but my brain whirls. This is no “superficial” resemblance, no genetic coincidence.
“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” she says. “You weren’t so quiet a few minutes ago, but I suspect that was for her benefit.” She nods at the woman caught in the binding spell. “We must give the Muggles explanations they can accept, and yours was very nicely done. One should expect no less from the Alpha’s children.”
I take a deep breath. “You want us out of your forest. I know that, and we are trying very hard—”
“Not hard enough. In fact, you’re trying so poorly that I cannot help but doubt your sincerity. Particularly when you keep the company of that girl.”
“If you mean—”
“You know who and what I mean. You and your sister do an excellent job of playing ingenuous teenagers. It’s all just a terrible mistake, ma’am. Please don’t hurt us. We’re only trying to leave.”
“We are trying—”
“Are you missing someone? A certain half-turned vampire?”
I stiffen. “Where is he?”
“Right over there, which is where he’ll remain while we chat. Now, being a werewolf, you might not know much about magic, so I should tell—or remind—you that a binding spell doesn’t cause deafness. We’re going to need to do something about her.”
She jerks her finger toward the frozen woman. “Give her a knock on the head, please. We’ll leave her unconscious, and when she wakes, this will all seem like a very strange dream.”
I look from the woman to the witch.
“A squeamish werewolf? Just give her a knock, and send her to dreamland.”
“Whatever you may have read in books, I can’t just bop her on the head and make her lose consciousness. She might. Or she might end up with a serious concussion.”
The witch sighs. “The world doesn’t need overly clever werewolves. Do something, then.”
I walk to the hiker and hoist her in the air, facing me. She stays bound, but I see the terror in her eyes.
“This isn’t happening,” I say. “It makes no sense. You’re frozen without anyone laying a hand on you. I’m lifting you in the air like you’re a toddler. That isn’t possible.”
I set her back on the ground and place my arm in front of her. Then, concentrating, I start to change, skin prickling, hair lengthening as my muscles contort. I haven’t perfected Mom’s trick of just changing one body part, though, so the rest of me starts to Change, too, and I let it continue until my legs threaten to give way. Then I reverse the process and look down into her horrified gaze.
“And that is definitely not possible. You’ve had a mental snap. Nothing too bad. Just stress. What you need to do now is go home and rest. Maybe see a doctor, but really, rest is the most important thing. Get home as fast as you can because there’s only so much a brain—or a heart—can take.”
I step away, and I keep walking, right past the witch. She undoes the binding spell, and the woman runs. And so do I, making my own break for it.
I get about five paces before I hear the witch turn, her shoes swishing over the ground. I dive, and whatever spell she casts misses me. I duck and weave, all the while sniffing for Mason. I catch a whiff of scent and veer. At the last second, I wheel and charge the witch. As expected, when she saw me going for Mason, she paused, knowing I’d be easy to target once I stopped to rescue him.
I launch myself and hit her hard. She goes down, spell dying on her lips. I put my hands to her throat, pressing down enough to cut off her voice. That doesn’t incapacitate her. She hits me, right in the gut. And then she knees me in an even more sensitive spot. Or she tries to, but I’ve already twisted out of the way.
She glares at me. I don’t kid myself into thinking I have her. She’s a fully trained dark witch. She’s just waiting for her chance. So I need to talk fast.
“I could kill you,” I say. “I have you dead to rights.”
An eye roll disputes that, but she sees value in letting me think I have the upper hand.
“I could also capture you,” I say. “Capture or kill. But I’m not going to, which should prove that I’m not after you. You’re right that we aren’t leaving very fast. There’s a camp full of unconscious teenagers over there, and that isn’t a problem we can solve on our own. So we called in the grownups. Once they arrive, everyone will leave, and as far as I’m concerned, no one needs to mention you. Holly will keep quiet. I’ll make sure she does. I’ll get back to my sister, and we’ll all return to camp without ever having seen a cabin in the woods. Okay?”
She eyes me. Then she motions for me to release her so she can speak.
“Yeah, sorry. The problem with that is speaking means spellcasting. I—”
Something hits me from behind, making me jump enough to release her. Before I can reac
t, she has me in a binding spell. A rock lies beside me, a fist-sized rock where there hadn’t been a rock before. I don’t know how she moved it without casting, but like I said—she’s a dark witch. I can’t rely on my knowledge of spell-craft.
The spell snaps so fast I topple over before I catch myself, scrambling up—
“Stop,” she says. “You didn’t break my spell. I released you. I just didn’t want you walking away thinking you’d bested Renée Livingston.”
I rise, brushing myself off. “And I will walk away, but not until—”
“You have your boyfriend. Yes, yes. He’s right through there.”
She reaches into her pocket and hands me Chloe’s cell phone. “He’s a bit rough around the edges, isn’t he? I would have done worse than give him a tongue-lashing if he jumped me like that. But I suppose he’s young, and he can be forgiven the blunder. Now let’s go get him.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Kate
The hatch swings open, and Allan appears, one hand raised against the fire poker in Elijah’s hands.
“Whoa!” he says. “Please tell me you were trying to free us and not that you’ve turned out to be evil, ’cause I hate it when that happens.”
Allan spots Tricia, and his smile evaporates as he jerks back, hand raised for a knock-back spell.
“It’s okay,” I say. “She’s with us, and Elijah hasn’t turned evil. Yet.”
“There’s still time for me to reveal my nefarious plan,” Elijah says, setting down the poker and helping Allan out. Then he reaches for Holly behind him. “I keep waiting to tell you all why I’ve brought you here, but everyone else keeps stealing my thunder. Half-demons, full demons, necromancers, hell hounds, dark witches . . .”
“Necromancers?” Holly says as she climbs out. “You guys had an adventure without us, didn’t you?”
“Looks like you guys had one, too.”
“A very small adventure,” Allan says. “Finding a hatch in the floor, going down and discovering secret tunnels and rooms full of body parts, the terror lasting exactly ten seconds before spoilsport here revealed the illusions.” He nods at Holly.
“So those weren’t pickled privates?” Elijah says.
“Uh, privates?” Holly chuckles. “You must have found a whole other room. We only got eyeballs and ears. It’s illusory magic. They’re actually pickled vegetables.”
“Told ya,” I say, bopping Elijah on the shoulder.
“Yeah, you suspected that, but you sure as hell weren’t popping one in your mouth, no matter how hungry you got.”
I look at Holly and Allan as they brush off their dusty clothes. “How long were you two down there?”
“Longer than necessary,” Holly says. “We went in and out a few times. I was teaching Allan how to dispel the illusions while we looked around for you guys. You found the back door, I presume.”
Elijah taps my shoulder. “Mind if I take off to track down Logan? He should be done calling Paige by now, but it’s safer if we don’t all troop into the forest and run right past him.”
“We’ve been doing a lot of that, haven’t we?” I say. “Sure, track him down, and tell him we’re all fine. We’ll wait here until you get back.”
“I’ll be as fast as I can.”
It’s only after he’s gone that I realize I shouldn’t have said that we’ll stay here in the house of a witch that Holly has come to . . . ? Blackmail? Threaten? Kill? I don’t even know.
Without the Tricia diversion and the hatch diversion, I’d have hauled Holly’s ass into the woods and demanded an explanation. But in all that, I have temporarily forgotten what I think she is. Even when I do remember, I look at her and laugh at myself. Holly, a member of a criminal group? A revenge-obsessed lover come to murder a dark witch? I’ve misinterpreted something. I must have.
Yet there are questions with potentially painful answers. I liked Holly. Really liked her. I don’t care that she’s actually a college freshman who joined the conference partly to sleuth out a dark witch living in the forest. If Paige had the opportunity to learn new magic at Holly’s age, she’d have done the same thing. She’d take the light magic for herself and confiscate the dark grimoires to be safely archived. There are many levels of dark magic, and even a witch like Paige knows some to protect herself and others.
I would forgive Holly’s curiosity. Hell, that’s nothing to forgive. But if she’s practicing this kind of dark magic? If she’s come to kill the witch? There is no wiggle room on that. If the witch returns, I need to know whether or not Holly deserves protecting.
“I need to speak to you, Holly,” I say. “Alone.”
“This doesn’t require privacy.” She moves to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m guessing Logan told you the truth about me.”
“Is it the truth? The entire truth?”
She glances at Allan and Tricia.
“We can step out,” Allan says. “I know what you told Logan, but if there’s more . . .”
“Yes, there’s more. No, you don’t have to leave.” She meets my gaze. “I admitted to Logan that I came to the conference under false pretenses. That I’m not a high school student. That I came looking for the witch. He could tell there was more, but an explanation wasn’t necessary at the time. It changed nothing, and it only stalled him from finding you.”
“Wait,” Tricia says, getting to her feet. “You came to the conference under false pretenses?”
“At this rate,” Allan murmurs, “I’m thinking no one at camp was exactly who they claimed to be, Tricia. Elijah is a werewolf. Holly isn’t in high school. Mason didn’t want anyone knowing what he is. You yourself were hiding what Kate and Logan are. And then there’s me.”
“That’s different,” Holly says hotly. “No one has a right to that information.”
Tricia nods. “Your case is different.”
I shoot Allan a quizzical look, but he ducks it and continues, “Everyone’s case is different. That’s the point. Elijah hid his race because he wanted to meet other supernatural teens and werewolves weren’t allowed. Mason . . . well, Mason’s Mason, and he was more comfortable not being a vampire for a while. Kate and Logan didn’t have a say in the matter. As for Holly, before things started going to hell, she was right in there, soaking up the conference material. If she also wanted to find this witch?” He shrugs. “Better than those who only came to party and get laid.”
“True,” I say. “Except that’s not all Holly came for. She was here looking for her boyfriend.”
Holly’s brow furrows. “You think I was looking for a boyfriend? Not among high-schoolers.”
“I mean you’re looking for your boyfriend. The one who wrote you this.”
I pull the folded page from my pocket and pass it over. As Holly reads, Tricia looks at me. “If Holly came to be with one of the campers, that’s only a problem if he’s under eighteen. Then I’d need to inform his parents.” She leans in to read the letter, and her eyes widen. Her gaze swings on me. “I don’t understand.”
“Make that two of us.” Holly folds the note. “Well, no, I think I do understand, unfortunately. And I guess we know who that mummy in the attic is.”
“Mummy?” Tricia’s voice rises.
“There are the mummified remains of a man in the attic.” Allan takes the note and skims it. “Recently mummified.” He turns over the dirt-streaked note. “I’m guessing you found this in the tunnel? Someone came for the witch. Someone with very bad intentions, who ended up mummified and . . .” His head jerks up. “You think he wrote this to Holly?”
“The note is addressed to H.T.,” Holly murmurs. “You suspect I’m not here under my real surname.”
“You’re accusing Holly based on that?” Tricia says.
“That and the fact that Holly came looking for the witch. Also, the witch gave me a message.” I turn to Holly. “She said ‘Tell the girl to stop looking for me, or she will end up like her boyfriend.’ Are you telling me you’re not female? Or not part of
our group? Or not looking for the witch? Which of those three things is false?”
“Kate,” Tricia says. “I don’t think this is the time. If this is true, the council will handle—”
“It’s not true,” Holly says. “Well, no, I am female. I am part of your group. I am looking for the witch. But I’m not the H.T. in that letter. I haven’t had a boyfriend in two years, and he was human. Marchocias also warned me to leave Renée—the witch—alone. She said Renée didn’t need my help. That’s what I’m here for. To help. Obviously, Renée saw me, and she’s mistaken me for this H.T. My name is Holly. Yes, my surname isn’t Nakamura. It’s Kimura.”
“Kimura?” I repeat. “That sounds familiar.”
“We try to fly under the radar, but you’ve probably come across it. Logan would have. And Paige definitely would know my family, which is why I’m going as Holly Nakamura in the Sabrinas.”
“And you joined the Sabrinas to get access to this camp.”
“No, I joined the Sabrinas for the fellowship, and as soon as I was comfortable, I’d have confessed to Paige, which I will do when she arrives.”
“Witch hunters,” Allan murmurs. “The Kimuras are witch hunters.”
“No,” she says firmly. “That’s a lie spread by those who’d like to see us put out of business. We do search out dark witches. We do monitor them. But our mission is protection.”
“You protect dark witches?” Tricia’s voice rises. “Protect women who’d nail bones to a door and mum—mummify a human being?”
Holly’s face sets. “All our intelligence suggests that Renée uses primarily scavenged body parts for her rituals of protection.”
“Sc-scavenged? You make it sound like she’s recycling old tires. These are dead bodies. Human corpses. Desecrated.”
“Which she uses to protect herself. Not to hurt others.”
Wolf's Curse Page 18
