Ryerson was going to be so pissed.
19
I burst through the back door and skidded to a stop, loose gravel scattering beneath my boots. The parking lot was mostly empty, with a few dusty sedans in muted colors clumped together in the far corners. A flash of dark hair in the driver’s seat of a gray sedan caught my attention. A shorter, squatter man sat in the passenger seat next to him. I could only see the backs of their heads, but now that I knew he’d dyed it, I’d recognize that short, spiky hair anywhere.
Alec threw the car into reverse and peeled out of the lot, spraying gravel and asphalt dust behind them.
Curse it.
I chased the car into the alley behind the post office just in time to watch the taillights whip around the corner and vanish from sight.
Great. There was no way I’d catch up to them on foot. I needed a car. Fast. I yanked the phone out of my pocket and called Ryerson.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I muttered impatiently as I ran to the corner, but Alec’s car was nowhere in sight, and the call went to voicemail.
Weird.
I hit end and punched the call button again. This time he answered on the first ring, but his voice was drowned out by someone shouting in Arabic on his end and the squeal of tires behind me on mine.
I spun around as a dusty sedan screamed to a stop next to me. Alec rolled down the window.
“Get in,” he said.
“Ainsley,” Ryerson said, his voice clipped and urgent. “What’s wrong? Where are you? Do you have the book?”
I glanced into the back seat of the car, where Amadou’s package sat. “Not exactly.”
Alec looked pointedly at my phone and stuck his hand out the window with a “give it here” gesture.
So here’s the thing. If Alec took off again without me, we’d probably never find him. Okay, Ryerson might find him, eventually, but by the time he did the Grimoire would be long gone. Because if Alec had proven anything over the last six months, it was that he was good at not being found when he didn’t want to be. Lucky for me, he let me find him a lot.
Maybe I could work a tracking rune before the car disappeared down the street. Maybe not.
I sighed and handed him the phone.
“Thanks.” He closed his fist around the phone, crushing it with his bare hand, and then tossed the pieces out the window.
Sometimes I forgot Alec was a werewolf.
“Hey!” I said, but my protest was drowned out by Amadou’s shriek from the passenger seat. His eyes were wide as they whipped from Alec’s hand to the broken pieces of my phone out the window and back to Alec again. Sure, now he paid attention.
“It’s okay,” I said reassuringly. “He’s a werewolf.”
Somehow, that did not help. Amadou screamed again and threw himself at the passenger door. But the door was locked, and Amadou was so freaked out by Alec’s supernatural strength that he couldn’t seem to figure out the locking mechanism. Then Alec reached over him and snapped the handle off the door, and the lock became a moot point.
Alec looked back at me. “Now get in.”
I got in.
The door was barely shut before Alec punched the gas, and we sailed around the corner, flattening me against the side door. We flew right by the side street Ryerson and Tiago were parked on. Only they weren’t alone. Not anymore. The two officers who had been stationed outside the post office now stood outside the SUV, shouting instructions in Arabic, guns trained on them through the side windows. No wonder Ryerson hadn’t answered the phone the first time I’d called. They were a little busy.
Ryerson’s gaze caught and held mine for an instant as we sped past, and his eyes widened in surprise.
Then we were gone.
I whipped around in the seat. “We have to help them!”
“They’ll be fine,” Alec said.
“You don’t know that. Why would those officers even suspect them of anything? They were just sitting there.”
Alec didn’t answer, his gaze steady on the road.
My eyes narrowed. “Alec.”
“Yes, dove?”
“What did you do?”
“I needed them distracted for a few minutes.”
“So you sent guys with guns after them?!”
“Relax. I needed Ryerson to send Amadou into the post office alone, so I called in a threat to the post office so they’d send a few officers over.”
“And?” I demanded.
“And I may have reported two suspicious-looking Americans loitering outside the post office. But don’t worry. Those officers don’t actually want to kill them. There’s a difference.”
“You better hope that’s true, or I swear to the goddess, Alec, I will figure out a way to turn you into a newt.”
He flashed me a grin in the rearview mirror. Like he found the threat amusing. I scowled at his reflection.
We could do it, you know. Turn him into a newt. Or whatever you want. You and me. The Grimoire is right there. Just open it, and let me take over for a few minutes.
“You are so creepy,” I told the voice in my head. But it was comforting to know she thought she needed my permission this time.
“Dove,” Alec said slowly, “who are you talking to?”
Fortunately, Amadou had stopped screaming. Unfortunately, he was now watching me with the same wary look he had previously reserved for Alec.
“No one.” Before he could push it, I changed the subject. “Where are we going, anyway?”
“To see a witch.”
That got my attention. “Why?”
“You’ll see.”
What is it with spies and their secrets? I thought about pushing it, but he was right; I’d find out soon enough. Besides, there was something else I wanted to know.
“Back at the airport, you put Amadou’s name in my pocket because you knew he’d be at the embassy, and that was the one place you couldn’t go, right? You needed us to bring him to the post office, and then you waited for him to pick up the book for you.”
“First, you’re right that I needed Amadou, but not for the reason you think. And second, there are a lot of places I shouldn’t go, but not many that I can’t. But yeah, this way saved me a lot of work. And before you ask, yes, I figured Ryerson would double-cross me, so I flew into Dakar instead and drove from there. Got in last night.”
“If you got in last night, why not just break into the post office and steal the book?”
“Do you have any idea how many packages come through the post office on any given day?”
“Plus by making us do the work you could stick it to Ryerson.”
He grinned. “There was that.”
I rolled my eyes, trying to decide if I was annoyed that he’d used us, again, or impressed at his efficiency for laziness. Maybe a little of both.
I turned to Amadou. “And you. Why would you just leave like that? We had a deal.”
“He told me what was in the package.”
“So? You’re not a mage. What would you want with a spell book?”
“He told me that Bilal wanted me to take the book to a witch, and that he’d make sure I got there.”
“And you believed him?”
He shifted uncomfortably and flicked a suspicious look at Alec.
“He believed you when Ryerson told him you’re CIA,” Alec pointed out.
Amadou’s eyes widened. “You’re not CIA?”
“Of course we are. Well, Ryerson is. I’m, um, it’s complicated. The point is we’re the good guys.”
Amadou looked at Alec but spoke to me. “And he is not?”
“Well, no. I mean yes. I mean … that’s complicated too.” Clearly there was no winning this argument, so I changed the subject. “So why does Alec need you, if not to get the book?”
“He needs me because my grandmother doesn’t trust Americans.”
I blinked at him, trying to catch up. “Your grandmother?”
“She’s the witch we’re going to see.
”
“And you’re going to give her the book to perform a spell.”
“It’s what Bilal wanted,” he said simply.
Right. I turned to Alec. “This is what you want?”
“It’s important, dove.”
I glanced at Amadou. “Is your grandmother a good witch or a bad witch?”
“Good witch.”
I sat back. Alec hated the book more than anyone. If he thought this was a good idea, then I’d trust him. “Okay then. Let’s go see this witch.”
20
Amadou’s grandmother lived in a small village outside the capital city. In Nouakchott, a light, nearly invisible layer of sand and grit had blanketed everything, but out here, away from the buildings that blocked the worst of the wind and sand, civilization and the desert faced off in a quiet battle of wills. Sand permeated everything, stripping the paint from the concrete homes and coating the roads and yards so thoroughly that it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began.
Amadou directed Alec to a small compound-style home, separated from the road and the encroaching desert by a low concrete wall. We left the car on what I hoped was the side of the road and walked up to a house painted a vibrant blue, like a cheerfully raised middle finger to the monotony of the desert surrounding it.
I liked Amadou’s grandmother already.
Silly girl, chided the voice in my head. A little paint and some pretty colors and you’re ready to gobble down the candy a strange witch offers you.
I like her house color, I thought back, annoyed with the nosy voice that kept horning in on my thoughts but pleased with myself for remembering not to respond out loud this time. That doesn’t mean I trust her. And get out of my head.
You’re about to hand her the Grimoire, aren’t you? she said, completely ignoring my second point. What’s to stop her from keeping it for herself? Your werewolf is strong, but we know nothing about this witch or how powerful she is, and that makes her unpredictable. After everything we’ve been through to find it, and now he’s just giving it to another witch for goddess knows what? It’s foolishness, that’s what it is. Utter foolishness.
First, I thought back, clenching my jaw so hard it hurt, what’s this “we” business? And second, I may not trust this witch, but I do trust Alec.
Usually.
You know I can hear that thought, too, right? said the voice, sounding exasperated.
I grimaced. As soon as Alec was cured and the book was safely in the CIA’s hands, I was doing something about this voice. Like, so many hours of therapy. And maybe an exorcism. For now, though, the best I could do was ignore it while I reached for my magic. Because while the voice was annoying, it wasn’t completely wrong. We were about to hand the Grimoire over to a witch neither one of us knew. The least I could do was feel out her magic.
Magic swelled in my fingertips, and I pushed it out, urging it into the house, searching out the witch. Honestly there wasn’t much I could learn about her this way, except to confirm she was indeed a witch, her location inside the house, and a vague idea of how powerful she was. My magic touched a ward at the edge of the yard, but it wasn’t meant to keep anyone out, or in. It felt more like an alarm system.
Amadou’s grandmother knew we were here.
I refocused my magic toward the house, searching, until it slammed into a wall. Not a physical wall—magic flowed right through those—but a magical one. But that wasn’t quite right either. Magical barriers were wards, and those felt like tightly packed magic that hummed with power. Like the magical equivalent of an electrified fence. But this? This felt like an absence of magic. An absence of everything, really. With a giant keep out sign hanging crookedly on the fence around it.
Huh. That was new.
What did I tell you? the voice said. Trouble. Best take the book and be off then.
Nice try, I thought back, but I touched Alec’s arm as Amadou knocked on the front door. Alec glanced down at me, a question in his eyes.
“Can we talk?”
“Of course.”
He put a hand at the small of my back and gestured toward the yard, but before we’d taken a single step, the door opened, and a woman filled the doorway. She had dark eyes and a pronounced nose, and the corners of her mouth and eyes were creased with decades of laughter, or sadness. Maybe both. She wore a hijab and a loose-fitting dress that hung from thin shoulders and brushed the floor. She took one look at Amadou and crushed him to her in a hug.
“Jida,” he said, his voice muffled against her shoulder. “Iinah Bilal …”
Then he began to cry.
She murmured soothing words and rubbed circles into his back as he wept. A hot lump of tears gathered in my throat, and I shoved it mercilessly back down. This was a family moment, and I wasn’t about to intrude on that. Amadou spoke into her shoulder, the words muffled and in Arabic but punctuated by Bilal’s name often enough that it was clear he was breaking the terrible news. She closed her eyes tightly, and a single tear slipped out. Then with a deep, shuddering breath, she pulled back from Amadou, holding his shoulders at arm’s length and smiling sadly at him. I got the feeling she would mourn her grandson but not with an audience.
Then she turned her attention to us. Her gaze lingered on Alec, and her mouth tightened ever so slightly.
“Americans?” she said in heavily accented English.
Alec nodded. “We’re sorry for your loss. I knew Bilal. He spoke of you often.”
I whipped my head toward Alec. He had said he recognized Bilal but not that he knew him well enough to hear stories about the guy’s grandmother. Did it matter? I supposed not. But it bothered me that the more time I spent with Alec, the less I felt like I knew him. It did explain how he’d figured out Bilal’s plans for the Grimoire, though.
She regarded him with shrewd eyes. “I loved my grandson, but I am not blind to the caliber of people he chose to associate with.”
I raised an eyebrow at Alec, pretty sure she’d just called him out. But Alec didn’t take the bait. He gave her his most charming smile, the one that had been known to bring some girls to their wobbly knees. I felt my own knees go a little weak and it wasn’t even directed at me. But Amadou’s grandmother only narrowed her eyes. It was oddly comforting to know at least one woman who was immune to Alec’s charm.
Alec didn’t seem bothered by her wariness, which wasn’t all that surprising. He always did like a challenge.
“Jida,” Amadou said, “this is Ainsley and Alec. They’re with the American CIA. Guys, this is my grandmother, Aduna.”
Alec didn’t correct him about the CIA part, so I didn’t either.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
“Come in.” She stepped back into the house and we followed her inside, into the middle of a wide, if shallow, room. The right half of the room housed a small kitchen. To the left was a sun-lit living area. A doorway straight ahead led deeper into the house, but it was too dark to see much past the entrance. A bathroom, maybe. Or a bedroom.
Aduna waved a hand toward the living area. “Sit. I will make tea. Then you will tell me why you are here and why that box you carry reeks of magic.”
And with that, she stepped into the kitchen and busied herself making the tea.
Alec, Amadou, and I headed into the living room, where a short coffee table sat between two long, cushioned mats in bright patterns. Bold-colored pillows lined the backs of the mats, most woven through with blues and golds.
Alec moved to sit on one of the mats, but I put a hand on his arm. “Can I talk to you?”
In response, he looked at Amadou, who got the hint.
“I think I will help Jida with the tea,” Amadou announced.
I waited until he’d disappeared into the kitchen and then dragged Alec past the room’s only chair to the far end of the room, where sunlight streamed through the windows.
“What are we doing here, Alec?” I said quietly.
“I believe we’re about to have tea.”
> I crossed my arms so he knew I meant business. His lips quirked, and I scowled. “You know what I mean. I thought the plan was to have me find the werewolf counter-curse and then destroy the book.”
Well, that was his plan, anyway. My plan involved finding the counter-curse and then turning the book over to Ryerson. Not that I’d told Alec that last part. I was still working that bit out.
“Don’t worry, dove. We’ll get there.”
That was hardly an answer. Frustration churned inside of me. I mean, I understood that Alec thought like a spy and kept information locked up tighter than the secret ingredient in Aunt Belinda’s Aces for Days spell—sometimes my aunt cheated at her weekly poker game—but that didn’t mean I had to like it.
“What if we don’t get there?” I pressed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but bad things tend to happen to derail our plans. We have the Grimoire. Ryerson isn’t here. And if we lose the book before I get that counter-curse, you’ll be stuck as a werewolf. Maybe forever.”
I expected an argument. Or maybe a declaration that I was completely right and he was wrong, and really, I should just be in charge from now on. But he didn’t do any of that. Instead, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and he tucked a strand of frizzy blonde hair behind my ear. “Are you worried about me?”
A flippant response dissolved on my lips as his fingertips lingered, his thumb brushing away a few grains of sand that had caught in the hair above my ear. The roughness of the sand coupled with the soft stroke of his thumb over my skin sent a shiver through me, despite the warm sunshine baking us through the window.
I knew what he was doing. I’d seen him do it a dozen times to other girls: in the halls at school, at parties, on a few dates I’d stalked him to … erm, actually the “where” wasn’t all that important. The point was, he was trying to distract me from being angry with him. I knew that as well as I knew the scent of my own magic. I’d spent so much time wanting to be one of those girls. Wanting him to look at me the way he’d looked at them. The way he was looking at me now.
But now that I was that girl, I realized something. The way he looked at me now was nothing more than habit to him. As natural as breathing. And it had nothing to do with how he felt about me. Maybe Ryerson was right about him. Maybe Alec was manipulating me, after all.
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