Witch Hunt

by Layla Nash

He cracked one eye open and studied the silent beast. A witch’s pet. He’d heard that witches’ pets could be magical. A familiar, wasn’t it called? Evershaw carefully lifted Cricket and set him on a nearby cushion, so he could stand up and check on Deirdre, though he spoke to the beast. “Are you her familiar, then? Some kind of magic going on with you? Does she know about it?”

  Cricket blinked, long and slow, and the tip of his tail curled and dropped, curled and dropped. But no more images came to him. Just the relative certainty that help would be found at Deirdre’s house.

  Evershaw stood there in his living room debating for far longer than he wanted to admit. He’d do anything to save her. That wasn’t a question. He just had to figure out how the fuck to explain to his pack that he was taking orders from the mangy beast that had tormented Mercy and everyone else for weeks.

  Chapter 71

  Miles

  In the end, it was as simple as saying, “The cat thinks being at home will help her,” and no one said a fucking word.

  That didn’t make shoving the cat into a carrier any easier, though Mercy eventually managed it with a hefty chunk of tuna and some leather gloves.

  Evershaw packed up everything he’d need and Deirdre would need, and didn’t plan on ever going back if it came to that. He’d figure it out. The pack would be fine with Todd. His cousin didn’t say much as they arrived at the old house and stood on the lawn, staring up at it.

  Todd cleared his throat, though, and put his hands in his pockets. “We bought the block. Most people didn’t mind selling, although they warned me about the stubborn girl who lives here. Said she’d never leave the place, regardless of how much money I put in front of her.”

  “So she’s got a reputation,” Evershaw said. He watched as Mercy and Henry led Deirdre across the lawn and up to the front porch, giving her plenty of time to recognize her surroundings and hopefully make an immediate, miraculous recovery. When that didn’t happen, Evershaw swallowed the taste of regret and bile and instead focused on the future. The things he could do, what he could improve for her, regardless of whether she woke up or not. “Leave the houses for now, but clear that building over there behind her property. Her garden wants to get bigger, so she’ll need more room. A real greenhouse as well. Something modeled after an English whatever. Fancy. Pretty.”

  Todd nodded, taking notes on his phone, then gestured at Deirdre’s house. “Plumbing needs to be redone, and the water heater and furnace are both out. We can put in air-conditioning and fix the electrical at the same time, though we might have to knock down some drywall to get at the trickier areas. Might be better to wait, since we don’t want to destroy anything she really likes about the place. It’ll at least be comfortable, while you’re... waiting.”

  Evershaw nodded, then headed for the front porch. “I’ll start a list. The kitchen needs improvement, but the aesthetics stay the same. Start with new appliances, but those retro-looking ones. Like Gran used to have in her kitchen. We’ll start there. I’ll let you know what else needs to be done. Have someone check the roof; it looks like there might be bowing off that west tower and wing.”

  “Got it.” Todd stayed where he was, letting Evershaw get farther away. “We’ll deal with everything until you’re ready to come back. Just…take care of her. Take care of yourself, too, but take care of her. It’ll be okay.”

  “Tell me if Smith surfaces with anything useful,” Evershaw said. He didn’t look back as he climbed the creaky, splintering stairs to the front porch and put his shoulder into the front door to open it.

  Henry handed him the cat carrier with the hissing, spitting Cricket boxed up, and Evershaw gave the cage a little rattle before he set it down and let the beast out. Maybe the cat was right and Deirdre just needed to be in her own space in order to come back. Maybe it was more than that, or less, or something else entirely and Evershaw had just lost his ever-loving mind and hallucinated a near-conversation with the beast.

  Evershaw paused in the kitchen to get a glass of water, frowning at where Mercy unloaded groceries and Henry hauled suitcases toward the stairs. “You both don’t have to stay. I appreciate it, but—”

  “Just try to make us leave,” Mercy said, so cheerfully it made Evershaw’s blood run a little cold. Like she was just looking for an opportunity to show him how damn cheerful she actually was. “It won’t happen. I’m staying until Deirdre herself kicks me out, hear?”

  The wolf side wanted to put her in her place for challenging him so directly, but Evershaw’s chest ached with appreciation that he had people in his life that cared so much about someone he cared about. And he knew Mercy and Henry would carry no tales, regardless of whether Evershaw lost his mind and started talking to a cat. Or started redecorating a house like some fancy interior designer.

  So he focused on Deirdre and led her into a large sunroom right off the kitchen, with floor-to-ceiling windows and half-dead plants all around, and he had her sit on a bench seat in the window so she could look outside. Maybe she drank her coffee there in the morning or read during lazy afternoons. No recognition flickered across her expression, but he could wait.

  He just had to wait.

  Cricket sauntered in and heaved himself up on the bench next to Deirdre, huffing and puffing from his scamper across the house, and sprawled in her lap like he was just waiting for her to pet him. Evershaw even held his breath, waiting for her hands to move. When they didn’t twitch, he reached to pick them up and place them on the cat, wondering if fur therapy would save her.

  Nothing changed in her expression, but at least she looked more normal. She looked more like herself, there in her house, than she ever had in his den.

  Which just made things more complicated.

  Evershaw leaned back against the wall at the other end of the bench, watching her look out the window, and started to reassess everything in his life. If Deirdre returned or didn’t, he had a lot of things to change about himself and the pack and everything else. He could make things better for Deirdre and himself, and he could make them better for everyone.

  He resisted the urge to knock the cat to the ground so he could reclaim Deirdre, but he left the beast be for the time being. Evershaw could fix up her house and everything else on the block, and figure out what to do after that when the time came.

  The cat’s purr drowned out even the rasp of his own breathing, lulling them all toward sleep.

  Chapter 72

  Miles

  It took another week before Smith found him. Evershaw worked in the garden, Deirdre in a chair nearby, though he gave the poisonous section a wide berth until he figured out what the fuck actually grew in there.

  The ErlKing picked his way through a brambly path that Evershaw hadn’t cleared yet, looking ridiculous in his formal suit, and avoided a few piles of herbs that the cat managed to convince Evershaw to save for drying. Evershaw wiped sweat from his brow and paused to stretch his back, pulling off the gloves to give his hands a break as well. “Any news?”

  The old man hesitated, then looked around the garden and up toward the house. “Have you noticed any change in her?”

  “None,” Evershaw said. “Every time I think maybe she’s started paying attention or looked somewhere or done something, it’s nothing more than wishful thinking. She’s the same. No better, no worse.”

  “I had hoped that perhaps a familiar environment...” Smith shook his head, then glanced over his shoulder. “There is one thing to try, though I hesitate to recommend it.”

  “We’ll do it, whatever it is.” Evershaw tossed the gloves aside. “What is it and when?”

  “Young man, I realize you’re blinded by love and willing to do anything necessary to save Deirdre, but take heed of this warning—never, and I mean never, agree to something one of my kind suggests without hearing it out first.”

  Evershaw’s heart echoed in his ears as a strong wind rushed up, tangling around them, and once more he was reminded by the immense power that the innocuous old man
held at his fingertips. Which made it all the more surprising that the bastard couldn’t just fix Deirdre. He folded his arms over his chest. “Fine. Start talking.”

  Smith’s gray eyes glinted a little silver and his teeth grew pointy as he looked around at the garden. “Witches cannot undo what was done, and neither can I. There is no way to resurrect the bond between you, though I have reason to believe that if the mate bond still existed, you could bring her back. Reestablishing that bond could save her.”

  “Then reestablish it.”

  “If it were that simple, Evershaw, I would have done it already.” The old man’s temper frayed and his shadow shifted a bit, and Evershaw caught the hint of rotting vegetation and old forest in the breeze. Cricket, lazily hunting mice and insects among the shrubs, scampered off after something when the old man’s magic stirred.

  He was suddenly curious whether Cricket could talk to Smith as well, or if it was just a cat-to-shifter thing. Maybe it was just a cat-to-Evershaw thing. Who the fuck knew. And like every cat ever in existence, Cricket wasn’t big on explaining his thought process or reasoning with anyone else. He just did whatever the fuck he wanted to do and expected everyone to kowtow to his wishes.

  Which Mercy certainly did, and Deirdre clearly had. And when no one was looking Henry did. And maybe Evershaw did a little, too, if only because he couldn’t spoil Deirdre the way he wanted. Stuffing the fat old cat full of tuna and salmon and chicken and other little treats assuaged some of his guilt at having failed to protect Deirdre.

  Smith was talking; Evershaw dragged his attention back, frowning, and tried to pick up in the middle of the conversation. Something about a big favor. “Sorry, run that by me again.”

  “The djinn, Iskander.” Smith grew blurry around the edges as he stood there and a strong breeze picked up over the poisoner’s garden, bringing heavy dangerous scents along with it. “I found him. It took quite a bit of looking, as he did not want to be found, but he is aware of the great debt he owes to Deirdre. He may be able to resurrect the bond or bring her back. It is difficult to say until he is able to look at the magic as well.”

  Another stranger coming around to stare at Deirdre. Evershaw frowned as he studied Smith, then glanced at where Deirdre sat in the sun and the breeze ruffled her dark hair. He sighed and put his gloves back on. “Set it up. We’ll try almost anything.”

  “Very well,” Smith said. He hesitated, surveying the piles of herbs and weeds and other things that Evershaw had spent a fucking week pulling out and trimming back and planting again. “There has been no improvement at all?”

  “Nope,” Evershaw said. He went back to work, not looking up again as Smith trudged back across the lawn and out to the street and his car. Evershaw didn’t need it shoved in his face that he’d failed. He knew he’d failed. Saw it every fucking day.

  Chapter 73

  Miles

  He spent three more hours in the garden before Cricket reappeared, picking his way daintily through the overgrown sections of the garden, and sat down near Deirdre’s feet. Evershaw paused to drink more water, pretending not to notice that Mercy sat on the porch and kept an eye on him, and frowned at the cat. “Where the fuck have you been? You’re supposed to be helping me get her back, you mangy pile of owl droppings.”

  The cat flicked his tail in a disdainful way, clearly unimpressed, and managed to gather his great bulk to launch into Deirdre’s lap. He kneaded his paws against her side and sighed, stretching out in pure bliss, and his purr rattled through the air until it vibrated into Evershaw’s brain.

  Along with the purr came more pictures and instructions, things that the cat wanted done but couldn’t—or didn’t bother to—explain. Herbs to cut and dry. Things to gather. Teas to make. Evershaw growled right back at the cat but grudgingly did what it asked, since Deirdre was worth putting up with an uppity little shit throwing his weight around. As soon as she was back, he was kicking Cricket out of the house permanently. Definitely out of Deirdre’s bedroom, that was for damn sure. The cat needed to lose weight anyway, and being left outside to fend for himself was a pretty good fat camp for felines.

  Evershaw smiled as he got to work, humming under his breath and talking to Deirdre when he felt like it, getting ready for whatever Smith had in store. That djinn—whatever the fuck a djinn was—might be able to help her. And if he couldn’t, then Evershaw would continue on with whatever the fuck he wanted to do in order to try and save her. He’d go through every possibility.

  If Smith kept turning up dead ends, he’d go to the Chase brothers and the half-Medusa who could heal people from near-death with her blood. That could work. If it didn’t, though, he’d go to Rafe O’Shea, whose mate was some weird kind of critter like Smith, and see if she knew any tricks. Then he could go back to the Chases, with their mountains of fucking money and all the research they’d done after BadCreek and their evil medical experiments, and figure out if he could capitalize on whatever the Chases managed to get locked down.

  And he would keep searching. As long as it took, as far as it needed, until he saw that bright spark back in her eyes. He wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t even hesitate.

  Cricket head-butted Deirdre’s hand and purred louder, sending more thoughts of a tea made with a few particular kinds of herbs, something meant to boost memory, and rolled around like he wanted to mark her all over with his scent. Which he did, the little shit, and made Evershaw mark her back with soaps and detergent and everything else. It was fucking annoying.

  He growled at the cat once more, turning the hose on the beast. It sent Cricket yowling and flying across the lawn up to the porch, where he crouched under Mercy’s chair and hissed at Evershaw from safety. He rolled his eyes and started to gather up the herbs the cat wanted, wondering how much tea they’d have to drink before it started to work.

  It was a good thing Deirdre’s garden had become wildly overgrown and had more than enough herbs and plants to use. He’d also sent some of the pack around to local nurseries and gardens to scope out what kind of plants were still available if they needed to acquire more.

  It had only been a few weeks, even though it felt like an eternity of a broken heart and feeling completely adrift without Deirdre as his rock, his anchor. The softer voice in his ear trying to file down his rough edges... and telling him to his face when he was being an idiot.

  He ignored Cricket’s grumbling as he led Deirdre inside and found her a comfortable spot on the couch; the cat immediately jumped into her lap and started grooming himself, still grumbling and squawking periodically like he relayed exactly what he thought of Evershaw to her directly. Mercy helped gather the herbs and they worked in silence, only the sound of Cricket’s ire disturbing the quiet.

  Chapter 74

  Miles

  Three days later, Smith brought the djinn. Evershaw didn’t know what to expect, though he’d heard from Henry that djinn were the formal names for genies, the old “trapped in a bottle” spirits who granted wishes. The blue genies were apparently the oldest and most powerful, or the most dangerous, depending on what sources he chose to believe. Much like with shifters, there wasn’t a lot of factual information available—since most humans didn’t realize such things actually existed.

  It would have been very useful to have a handbook for how to deal with djinn, particularly ones who’d been trapped and made to do all kinds of fucked-up shit, since Iskander had been held captive by the BadCreek alpha for some time before he was trapped in the Betwixt or whatever in-between place held him before Deirdre freed them. Evershaw tried to prepare himself for the worst, although he couldn’t decide what would be worst—that the djinn couldn’t do anything, or that he could and wouldn’t.

  From what Smith said, the guy didn’t want to be found or deal with any other supernaturals in the city. Evershaw couldn’t blame him, not after what BadCreek did to him, but he’d do anything and pay any price to save Deirdre. He just had to convince the dude to cooperate.

  Evershaw sat on the
front porch, Mercy next to him, and watched as Smith’s sleek sedan pulled up on the street and parked. The ErlKing didn’t get out right away, but when his door opened, the passenger door opened as well. Evershaw left Deirdre and Henry inside for safety, though Mercy had instructions to protect Deirdre at any price and to leave Evershaw on his own to handle his business. He didn’t think she’d actually follow his orders if he was about to die, but it made him feel a little better that his pack would protect his mate.

  And he didn’t want to overwhelm and intimidate the djinn, not when Evershaw needed his help. So he intended to take the exact opposite of his normal approach, which would be super aggressive, and instead just have a conversation with the dude. He was a different man than he’d been before Deirdre—both knowing her and possibly losing her. He couldn’t just steamroll everyone and intimidate them into doing what he wanted.

  He felt oddly calm as they walked up the new stone path that Henry put in, and Evershaw eased to his feet as Smith reached the porch and paused to wait for the stranger to catch up. The djinn was a big dude—olive skin and black hair, though there was a faint blueish cast to his hair and even to his skin as the shadows fell across his face. His eyes were a golden brown and very sharp and watchful, flicking around to each of them in turn in a constant rotation as if he searched for more threats with each beat of his heart.

  Evershaw didn’t blame him. He gestured at the empty chairs and stepped back to give the guy room. “Thanks for coming. You want something to drink?”

  A soft conversation blurred between Smith and the djinn, then Iskander shook his head. “No. Thank you.”

  The accent softened the man’s deep voice but made Evershaw think of faraway deserts. The things he wanted to ask Iskander grew by a country mile, but he held it all back as he eased back into his chair and introduced Mercy. She blinked and stared at the djinn, apparently dazzled by the guy’s good looks and clearly buff build, until Evershaw knew he’d be able to tease the living shit out of her for months to come.