Wolf Magic (Wolves of Faerie Book 1)

by WB McKay

  "I hope you're not working with actual fire," I said.

  She laughed at that. "You should know that straight up fire would be one of the lesser dangers in this lab."

  I cringed. It was true. The Inventor worked on many things. One of her safer, personal projects was a goal to make steampunk "happen". She'd read a few books and, well, she'd taken to the genre, was the nicest way to put it. If she had her way, dirigibles would fill the sky, clock gears would be the height of fashion, and everything, everywhere would be made of brass. I'd been so distracted by her steampunk aesthetic, it had taken me a while to realize the goggles she always wore weren't part of it. Or maybe they were, but they did serve a practical purpose. There was always soot and dirt surrounding the lines of where her goggles had been. If I ever saw her with a clean face, I'd know something had gone terribly wrong.

  While steampunk was a hobby of passion, her true work was crossing magical barriers.

  "How's my weapon doing?"

  "Wasn't it a gift? Doesn't that make it my weapon now?"

  "How is the weapon I designed for you?"

  "Good," I said. "I mean, I haven't used it much."

  "Criminal," she said, and I cringed again. I knew she meant it as a joke, but it wasn't funny. If the Division of Protection Against Magical Corruption—a little known branch of the Faerie Affairs Bureau—ever got their hands on The Inventor, I doubted I'd ever see her again. Of course, the same could be said about me. "A weapon like that deserves to see the light of day," she scolded.

  "It's beautiful," I agreed. It sat locked up in the safe in the corner of my workshop. "That's not what I'm calling about, though. I wanted to ask if you knew anything about witches in the Redding, California area."

  "Then ask."

  I sighed. "Do you know anything about witches in the Redding, California area?"

  "No." She adjusted the straps of her leather apron. "I will ask around and see what I can find out."

  "Tha—" I stopped myself. Thanking the fae was never advisable. Or at least, most fae. Werewolves were a welcome exception, but one of the few. "I appreciate that."

  "What are you after with the witches in Redding?" she asked.

  "I don't know if there are witches in Redding," I clarified. "A family was murdered. I heard a rumor they were witches. I'm trying to confirm that. I'd like to talk to other witches in the area who knew them, if they exist."

  "Hmm," she said, looking bored. "If you find any interesting magic, you'll let me know."

  "I know the deal." In exchange for the knowledge The Inventor shared with me, anything interesting I uncovered was immediately to be turned over to her. Where most fae believed in the accepted rule that fae magic was grace and wonder, and witch magic was unnatural and labored, The Inventor only saw magic. Witch magic, she insisted, was simply the transference of magic, which faeries could perform even easier than humans, if they were of the mind to. To be fair, there was more to it. Fae magic had one purpose. Witches took magic—any magic—and forced it to their will. Witches burned more magic in the process. It was less graceful, but it was also more interesting. Because no one else out there was studying what the fae could do with witch magic, we still didn't know where the lines were. What could be done? Anything is possible, The Inventor loved to remind me. She was the picture of curiosity and hope—happy and dangerous.

  A cloud of smoke burst across the screen.

  "What was that?" I asked.

  "Something," she said. "I'm not actually sure which it was yet. I didn't have my goggles on." The Inventor left the view of the camera, and I heard rushing water. When she returned to view, the soot on her face ran in watery lines down her cheeks, and her eyes were red and puffy. "Nothing to worry about."

  "You might want to worry about it a little," I said. "Put your goggles back on."

  "Ahh, right," she said, and rubbed her thumbs over the glass. "Did you want anything else? I should probably get back to my explosions."

  I blinked a few times. Was she making a joke, or had she intended to cause that burst of smoke? Was it a weapon of some kind? Did I want to know? "I'm good for today."

  "Excellent," she said. "I'll call around later. You should hear back from me tomorrow." She always warned me when I should expect her so I knew to call back in case she forgot. A true genius could never remember anything but equations, she often told me. It was hard to disagree with an excuse like that.

  "Be safe," I told her.

  "Mmm."

  "I'm serious. Be careful with yourself."

  She ended the call, completely unimpressed with any pleas for her safety.

  The Inventor had contacts with witches the world over. It was possible she'd hear something. I'd already contacted every witch I knew in California to no avail. I'd texted Tess the day before—as a hunter, she had a wide range of contacts—but I hadn't heard back. That wasn't unusual. Cell phones weren't a top priority when a case got hot. I resolved not to worry about it until the next day.

  It was only noon, and I was officially out of ideas. Physically, emotionally, and mentally spent, I considered going home, but I didn't have any idea what I'd do once I was there. Relax? Read a book? Tess was right. I couldn't sit still.

  The question of what to do next was taken out of my hands when Nathaniel Thatcher knocked on my garage door. I'd been sure to leave it closed, hot as it was, because I couldn't seem to go a day without being bothered by one member of the pack or another, and I'd hoped the symbol of a closed door might shoo some of them away. Of course, nothing like that was going to work on Nathaniel. At least he had the sense to knock.

  I opened the door and found myself staring at a wicked grin. "I've got a proposition for you."

  "I'm not going on a date with you, Nathaniel."

  His boots shuffled around and he put his hands on his hips. His head dipped when he said to me, "What makes you think I'd even wanna date you? After the way you left me like you did. I've got my pride, you know."

  "Your pride." I considered that. "I suppose even Nathaniel Thatcher could change, given enough years."

  "I'm inclined to accept that as an apology," Nathaniel said.

  "An apology?" I stretched my neck out, waiting for him to explain, but he didn't, of course. "Apology for what?"

  "Well, not for shootin' me, because I damned well ain't gonna wait around for what's truly owed me, that's for sure."

  "Nathaniel."

  "For your abrupt assumptions, woman. For assuming I was coming here to ask you out on a date."

  "Alrighty then," I said. "Glad you're at peace with that."

  "Hey," he said. "Julia."

  "Yes, Nathaniel?"

  "Would you like to head out with me tonight? Around seven?"

  "Nathaniel."

  "Julia," he mocked my tone. "You live here. I live here. We can't avoid each other forever. Let's go out and make nice."

  I groaned. "You must be wearing me down." He was everywhere. He had a point. If we went out and "made nice", as much as that was possible for us, maybe things wouldn't be so strained between us.

  "I'd rather believe you're giving in to what you wanted to do in the first place."

  "If I wanted to do it in the first place, I would have done it."

  He scoffed. "You're much too stubborn to let yourself have the good stuff, Julia." He tipped his hat. "I'll see you tonight."

  I closed the garage door and put my head in my hands. Was this really a good idea? I should have clarified that it wasn't a date. No romantic promises. But surely, Nathaniel knew that.

  I'd done a lot of dating over my hundred odd years, that's for sure. I tried not to a couple different times, of course. But eventually I'd get lonely, or some pretty someone would catch my eye or say something so startling it would shake me up and make me take notice. I've had moments where I thought I was in love and that it meant something, and I've had me a hell of a lot of fun. After a time, it struck me that the times I just had fun, I was the happiest—imagine t
hat. Sometimes I can be a little slow to understand things, I suppose. Anyhow, these days, I'd made a vow with myself. Life is miserable enough. Fun is good. Complicated is bad.

  Nathaniel Thatcher, no matter how wicked that grin got, was not fun. Not for me.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I'd just locked up the cabin and an unfamiliar truck was at my gate, but I had to run back inside to grab one more thing. Hurriedly, I flung one box after another to the ground until I found the right one.

  "Aha!" I shouted. I couldn't remember why I hadn't thrown the old phone out, but I was happy to have it now. I hid it away in my purse, relocked the door, and was standing ready and waiting when Nathaniel pulled up.

  "You're supposed to let me greet you at the front door," he said.

  "Those are romantic rules." I climbed in his truck before he could run to get my door. "This is not romantic. This is making some peace between us."

  "I'm glad you got that out of your system up front. Are we good to go?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Sir?" He grinned. "I could get used to that."

  I glared at him, which only made him happier, but he had the good sense to keep his eyes on the road.

  By the time we reached pavement, my body had gone slack, my legs were stretched out in front of me, and I was leaning over so my hair blew out the open window. I was completely relaxed. The moment I noticed, I brought myself back to center, rigid and ready and paying attention to the world around me. Being in Nathaniel's presence did this to people. I was likely to lose all sense if I didn't keep my guard up.

  I wasn't sure what it was about him, but he clearly felt that way himself all the time. He was too… loose. Easy. Relaxed. His body moved like someone needed to get a wrench and tighten up his joints. Whenever he sat down, he took up so much space! Legs sprawled out, arms at his sides—he was a thin man, and yet, he was everywhere. Even driving the truck, he had one arm hanging out the window, the other stuck out like a wing with only his fingers touching the wheel. He was quick to smile, he drawled out his words like they were reaching to take up the spaces his body couldn't fill, and his hair blew around on his head like it was on a daily adventure, traversing his big head. Nothing at all about him ever betrayed any tension. It was unnatural for a wolf. I bet other wolves had to see him shift before they even believed it was true.

  "You're staring at me, you know," he said.

  I jerked my chin away.

  "I didn't say it was a problem, I just wanted to make sure you were takin' it in is all."

  "I've never met anyone who wanted attention as much as you do."

  "Only your attention, woman."

  "You should keep calling me woman if you like it when I shoot you."

  "I never would have thought shooting me would have become the go-to joke, but that's the turn my life has taken thanks to you. I get it from you, from Benjamin—from the whole pack. Heck, even Gretchen's getting 'em in."

  "It'll be good for you." I smiled. "Where are you taking me?"

  "I thought we'd head over to Papa Casey's Grill," he said. "It's new. You know, to you. I like 'em better for breakfast, but they've got some good burgers, and a dinner salad with fruit on it you might take a liking to."

  "All right."

  "First I thought we'd drive around a bit, if that suits you."

  "What for?"

  "To relax you," he said, and when I glared he added, "I wanted to show you some of the things that have changed around here since you've last been back. What do you say to that?"

  "I'd like that," I admitted.

  He looked overly pleased. He even bothered to sit up a little straighter. "Good." He pointed out the window. "Recognize that?"

  "Should I?"

  "That's where Big Wheels used to be."

  "Oh," I said. "I thought they rebuilt it."

  "They did. It burnt down."

  "After they rebuilt it?"

  "That's right."

  "It burnt down, more than once."

  "Yep."

  "You know that's not the first time that's happened here," I said. "Do you remember the hotel?" It was there when my family first moved to Shingletown. When it burnt down in the early 1900s, they rebuilt it. Then someone bought it, moved it to another town, and a couple decades later, it burnt up again.

  "Shingletown was such a busy little town back then," I reminisced. The lumber mills. Emigrant Trail rolled through. We were an important stop for gold miners looking to build their homes—all the trees around made for great shakes and shingles business. "I don't expect the humans know anything about the town now. It certainly didn't make the history books, but it was human Julia's whole world, you know?"

  "I wish I could have known you then," he said.

  "Oh, god." I cringed. "You wouldn't recognize me," I told him honestly. "I was a nice girl, quiet and serious, but still easy to make smile. Simple—my life was simple, though I didn't really want it to be."

  "I'd have won you over even then," he told me.

  "I don't doubt it," I said, and I meant it. Happy, human Julia would have basked in his light. We would have converged like two creeks coming together to make a river, winding on down through life without anyone ever imagining we'd ever been apart. We could have been one mind, Nathaniel and I. But that's not how things were now. Nathaniel was the light, and I the darkness. It didn't help anyone to forget that.

  Ponderosa, cedar, and fir trees whipped through my view. Their fragrance filled the truck's cab, and it felt like home.

  "The world sure has changed, hasn't it?"

  "Sure has," he agreed. "Except where it hasn't."

  I laughed. "Isn't that the truth."

  I WAITED UNTIL WE'D ordered our food to pull out my flip phone and check the dark screen. I didn't have to wait long for him to notice.

  "What?" He gasped. "What!" He gripped his chest. "Woman! You are killing me!"

  "I told you to stop calling me 'woman'."

  "I know." He flashed a smile. "Why do you think I do it?" He dropped the smile. "But seriously, woman. You're killing me here! You're worse than Benjamin, who has the good sense to let me update him every five years or so. I mean, really. This? This?" He grabbed the flip phone from me. "You'd be more current carryin' around a rotary phone, 'cause at least you'd be vintage and quirky or something. I mean," he put both his hands on my arm, "really now. Listen, I know that you're old, but—"

  I gasped and slapped my palm to my chest. "I'm what now?"

  "Oh, don't even with me." He wagged his finger in my face. "I'm being serious here."

  "Clearly."

  "I know that you're old."

  "This again. Some charmer you are."

  He perked up at that. "Are you sayin' you want me to charm you now? 'cause Miss Julia, let me just say—"

  "We were talking about my advanced age."

  "Right," he said. "Just because you're old doesn't mean you can stop growing with the world. You don't get to decide 'Okay, nows I knows everythin' and I's a just gonna give 'er up.' No! No! You have to grow with the world! Ride the tides! Jump in the river of life and let her take you places!"

  "What kind of metaphor is this?"

  "I'm tellin' you a real point here!"

  "Which is?"

  "Julia. Baby. Darlin'. Apple of my eye. Woman. You's a needs a new phone!" He held up the flip phone and let it drop to the ground. "If it breaks, it's a mercy killing, I'm tellin' you."

  My laugh shook my whole body. "I knew it was going to be funny, but my goodness, Nathaniel." I held my aching belly with one hand and dug through my purse with the other. "This is my phone."

  He blinked, bewildered, and I laughed harder. My phone was thin, and large, and so new it wasn't available except in major cities at the time. "Pretty, isn't it?" I asked him, silently praising myself for the time I'd taken to run back in the house and grab the old flip phone. The look on his face was priceless.

  "That's a new piece of pretty right there," he said.<
br />
  "Don't I know it."

  Gingerly, he tapped edge of my phone. "I gotta say though, Android? You're an Android person? I dunno, this may be a bigger issue than the flip phone."

  "How so?"

  He pulled out his iPhone. "Because with a flip phone, I knew I'd be able to convince you to switch. With that stubborn streak you got in you, I'm just not sure I can ever bring you over to the Apple light, and what am I gonna do attached to an Android lovin' woman?"

  "Doomed from the start," I told him. "A tale as old as time."

  "This is what I'm sayin'." He took a swig from the bottle, and I watched his Adam's apple bob up and down. It was late in the day, so his stubble made sense, but I expected he let it grow to that length on purpose. Nathaniel Thatcher was much too vain not to remember how my body reacted when he was all stubbly, and he knew damned well how I felt about the exposed throat. He put down his bottle and smiled at me, a hundred percent wicked. "So you're a modern woman, then. I've looked for you on Facebook a couple of times, you know. Never found you. Checked that FaerieRing garbage, even."

  "Guess Google was too advanced for you then, huh?"

  "What?"

  I swiped my screen, turned it so he could see, and told my phone to show the Google results for my name.

  "Wowsa," he said, grabbing my phone. Normally, I wouldn't let anyone take my phone. I was kind of shocked when my fingers just, let go. "Wow, Julia." He looked up, eyes wide and impressed. "Wow."

  I was blushing, and I knew it. It would have been much cooler if I wasn't blushing. "I know," I said.

  "I can't believe I didn't know this," he said. "Where are you making this? Do you have anything here I could see?"

  "No," I said. "I'm on sabbatical." I cleared my throat. I hadn't expected that to feel like a lie, I'd been comfortable saying it to others, but to Nathaniel it felt like a half truth, and I knew he could tell the difference. "I have some work in storage in Sacramento and pieces on commission there and in San Francisco. You came and bugged me at my workshop today, but I haven't designed anything since I've been here."