by John Conroe
He waved them toward the benches and futon, disappearing into the yurt, only to reappear moments later with a teapot and four mugs.
The three visitors took spots on the log benches and Maurice sat on the edge of the futon, pouring each of them a mug of sweet-smelling tea.
“Spearmint and chamomile,” he said as he handed Stacia her mug. “Tell me about that,” he said, jutting his chin toward her chest. It took her several seconds to realize he wasn’t looking at her breasts but rather the outline of her two amulets resting on her chest bone.
She fished them out one-handed. “The wolf is a gift from a friend, the crystal a gift from another,” she said, oddly reticent.
“The wolf glows with power from the Creator. The crystal also glows, but it is the power of Mother Earth. Since I have seen videos and pictures of you with the others, I think I can guess who gave you the wolf. Tell me about the one who fastened the crystal.”
“He’s a friend,” she said, shrugging slightly.
Maurice raised one bushy eyebrow. “Just a friend? It shines like a floodlight to those of us with the Sight and while I do not recognize the symbols woven into its fastenings, I can see that they are fiercely protective of you. One does not create such a gift for just any friend.”
“Well, he usually uses Rowan wood, but I’m allergic,” she said.
“I should think so. Wolf brethren and mountain ash do not mix. Your benefactor is powerful, and skilled, but also young, I would say. Not yet attuned to the balance of things,” Maurice said.
“Why do you say that?” Shorty asked.
“Most amulets of protection carry a mixture of elements. It spreads the burden of the protection across many small objects of power. This… this is a single crystal, carefully selected and empowered with enormous energy wrapped in a very precisely woven net of copper. Protections are generally crafted to be subtle, to blend in but defend their wearers when needed. This is like a beacon, powered by a nuclear reactor, covered with signs and warnings to keep back under pain of death.”
“You’re saying it’s gaudy?” Stacia asked.
“I’m saying it promises pain and destruction to any practitioner who dares come near it. It draws attention to you.”
“It’s too much… overkill?” Buck asked.
“More like an excess of riches. Like buying a diamond bracelet that costs more than most people make in a year. It would take many, many practitioners a long time to duplicate this. And he’s male?” Maurice asked.
“Yes. From a rather long and famous line of witches. Two lines of witches, really,” she said.
“Could you make something like that, Maurice?” Shorty asked.
The older man shook his head. “It is much beyond my humble skills. It is truly extraordinary. Any Crafter who sees it will covet it,” he said. “Although I would not fancy trying to take it from you. In fact, I would not dare to send you so much as a blessing while you wear that. Powerful, but not in balance.”
“I don’t think he would give me something unstable,” Stacia said, annoyed at his judgmental tone.
“It is not a danger to you, just any who come in contact with you,” he said.
“We travel in dangerous places and we have dangerous enemies. He won’t stint on protecting his friends,” she said, squaring her shoulders a bit.
“In fact, he may follow her here to help her. We thought you should know,” Buck said.
“Duly noted,” Maurice said. “But why do I think you had other reasons to visit? I’m no danger to someone who could craft a thing like that. And I will warn the neighbors,” he said.
“Well, we’re looking for rogue werewolves and it was suggested that a local Adept might have felt something off,” Shorty said.
“A disturbance in the Force?” he asked, then chuckled at the expressions on their faces. “I have. But it is more along the lines of another Adept, as you might say, moving into the area.”
“Like a witch?” Stacia asked.
“There are many paths that would fit that description,” Maurice said. “But somehow witch fits better than most. Dark she is,” he said in a Yoda voice.
“What about werewolves?” Buck asked.
“The local animals have made themselves very scare. Much as if large, new predators have moved in.”
“Any ideas where to find the witch?” Buck asked.
“She moves about. I haven’t crossed paths with her, something I would like to avoid. I would recommend you avoid her as well, Buck. You are not equipped to deal with one such as this. She, maybe, with that massive ward around her neck,” Maurice said, pointing at Stacia’s amulet.
“Well, we’ll see. They may be unrelated,” Buck said.
“They may,” Maurice said, although his voice suggested otherwise.
Chapter 16
Buck left them at Shorty’s Lodge, the day mostly done. There were fewer vehicles than when she’d gone with the sheriff’s department to arrest Ken Spitzer. Only her Jeep and the Cadillac Escalade had been parked besides Buck’s sheriff’s truck and the Toyota Tacoma.
“Did I drive your customers away?” she asked Shorty.
“Two ripped-up bodies did the driving. Although Kyle looked pretty bad when he headed back to Boston. Only Carl and Hutch have stayed. Hutch is curious, and Carl sees an opportunity to make a connection,” Shorty said.
“No mere pack of murderous werewolves will interfere with business, huh?” she said.
“No joke. Carl is much more serious about hunting deals than hunting deer. And he’s pretty damned serious about deer.”
She nodded at the two hunters who were camped out by the television, each nursing a drink.
“Hair appointment?” Hutch asked, pointing at his own hair.
“Tried to keep things on the down low. Didn’t work,” she said, automatically touching her platinum locks.
“We know. It was just on the news. That sheriff has balls,” Carl said. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Reynolds.”
“Yes he does. And it’s nice to meet you too. Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said, heading up the stairs to her room.
A long, hot shower and fresh clothes went a long way toward making her feel human again.
Her phone had a message on it when she came out.
Heading home then coming up. Midmorning likely.
You have a test.
It’ll get taken.
Hmm, by you?
Of course. Gotta get to Aunt Ash’s. Be careful. Bye for now.
Didn’t think she could handle it on her own, did he? Her annoyance wasn’t deep, no matter how hard she tried. Instead, a warm satisfaction lived deep inside, awoken by his message. Loki’s Spawn had been scary as F when she was just a newbie werewolf, and the idea of facing a pack of killers plus a possible witch was more than mildly daunting. She would do it, but having the equivalent of a squad of Arkady’s vampire bodyguards for backup was nice. Okay, two squads. And wrapped in a package that she enjoyed being with.
Feeling refreshed and reinforced, she headed down for dinner. Tonight’s menu appeared to be baked ziti, Italian bread, and tossed salad. Shorty, Hutch, and Carl were all at the table when she came up to it, Mrs. Dox banging pots and pans in the kitchen. The ruckus got louder and Stacia assumed she’d been spotted.
“Ah, here she is,” Carl said, smiling. He smelled a little of excitement and fear.
“I like the new you,” Hutch said. His smells were pipe tobacco and curiosity.
“Yeah, I kinda suck at undercover,” she said.
“Occupational hazard when your face has been plastered on magazines and the entire Internet. Looks like you and Buck made progress, catching that Spitzer fellow,” Hutch said.
“Shorty was there, too,” she said, helping herself from the pan of ziti.
“Bah. Didn’t need me. Hell, she didn’t need the whole sheriff’s department. Took him down like she played for the Patriots,” Shorty said.
“So what’s the deal with that federal a
gent?” Hutch asked.
“He was there when I was first bitten. Chris hid it from them or else I’d have disappeared into a lab somewhere. So he doesn’t like me. Hates Chris. I think Chris scares him.”
“He should be scared. The literal Hammer of God,” Carl said, face a little flushed.
“Settle down there, fanboy,” Hutch said. “What’s he like?” he asked Stacia.
“Chris? Well, great. Super nice, approachable, humble, likes to stay off the radar.”
“But he’s also dangerous,” Shorty said.
“Of course. But that’s mostly Grim,” she said, buttering a slice of bread.
“Grim?” Carl asked.
“Oh, right. It’s the name we have for his combat persona. He’s pretty much a different person in a fight. We call that one Grim,” she said.
“He actually has a split personality?” Hutch asked.
“Yeah, but he’s fully aware of it and it’s not as distinct as it used to be. He’s matured,” she said.
“It’s hard to remember he’s only in his mid-twenties. He just seems older,” Carl said.
“He grew up fast and young. Never had the luxury of childhood. My other friend’s a little like that too, although in his case, it wasn’t fighting demons. It was being responsible for so much power.”
“How old is he?” Hutch asked.
“Nineteen, going on forty, although sometimes twelve,” she said.
“Most nineteen-year-old guys just have the twelve-year-old thing going on,” Hutch said. “At least my boys were like that. Takes them longer to grow up. My daughter felt like there wasn’t any hope for most boys in college, at least freshmen and sophmores. Something about them bro’ing out,” Hutch said.
“What does that mean?” Shorty asked.
“Bro this and bro that. Bros before hoes, dumb shit like that,” Hutch said.
“Yeah, that crap gets old quick,” Stacia agreed. “Got pack members like that. Declan doesn’t act like that. He seems a lot older than he is, despite what your friend thought of his amulet.”
“Maurice was a little… taken aback, maybe. Impressed,” Shorty said.
“You think so? I couldn’t read the guy at all. Heartbeat steady, no smell of fear or greed,” she said.
“You can smell greed? Carl, you must stink,” Hutch said to his friend with a grin.
“Oh shut up, Hutch,” Carl said, glancing nervously at Stacia.
“Carl smells of excitement, like a hunter on a trail,” she said. “I should warn you: Tatiana Demidova does not care for me. My connection is with her Chosen, Chris, so anything that comes from me is treated with skepticism and suspicion.”
“What woman wants another beautiful woman hanging around her man?” Hutch asked.
“Thank you, Hutch,” Stacia said. “But honestly, Shorty, I couldn’t get a thing off of Maurice other than a lecture.”
“He has a couple of tells. I’ve played enough poker with him to know them. He was shocked, then appalled, then mildly jealous of the amulet, and by that I mean your boyfriend,” Shorty said.
“He gets that a lot. Male witches are almost all very weak. They can still learn and become skilled, but they lack the power. Most witches’ circles have only a few men,” Stacia said.
“But your pal would be handpicked to be on a circle,” Hutch suggested.
She snorted softly. “He’s pretty much a circle all by himself.”
“So it sucks to be a male witch?” Shorty asked.
“In terms of power? Yes. But females will seek out males—who are very rare, by the way—and do almost anything to have children with them. Guaranteed strong witch babies,” she said.
“Oh, no wonder he stayed single all these years—he was studding himself out,” Shorty said. Stacia frowned, then realized he was probably talking about Maurice.
“That would mean your friend must be besieged by witches,” Carl pointed out.
“By every circle in the country—and other countries, too. Last year was the first year he was in the special college he attends. There were eight other witches, all girls. The witch world found out about him then. This year, there are forty-two new witches attending, all girls. So yeah,” she said.
“How does that make you feel?” Hutch asked.
“I told you, we’re not a couple,” she said with a frown.
“I may not be able to hear heartbeats or smell emotions, but I’ve learned a lot about body language over the years. You like this kid,” he stated.
She felt herself begin to squirm and squashed it ruthlessly. “I don’t know how I feel about Declan.”
“Know? Or willing to admit to yourself?” Hutch said.
“Why do you care? I mean, not to be mean, but we’ve just met. Why do you care if I like him or not?”
He shrugged. “My daughter is about your age. You must trigger my dad instincts. Which is odd, but there it is. Meeting you has been easily the highlight of my years of coming to Shorty’s Lodge.”
“Thanks a lot, Hutch,” Shorty said.
“No problem. Maybe you can invite her back next year—guided hunts with Stacia Reynolds. The place would be stacked three deep with hunters,” Hutch said. “But honestly, Stacia, it has. We’ve all seen the media coverage and the photos in magazines and the Internet. But to meet you and find out that despite the brains, beauty, and ability to lift cars, that you’re a normal person with abnormal challenges, well, I guess it makes me want to see you happy. I think this kid makes you happy. He’s obviously crazy about you, and you’re fighting it for some reason.”
“Why would you say he’s crazy about me?” she asked.
“So out of everything I just said, you honed in on that? Hmm, I wonder why?” he asked, then spoke without waiting for an answer. “Let’s see: he’s a great guy and very mature for his age; he’s got forty-two girls vying for his attention, yet he texts you constantly and by your own admission, wild werewolves can’t keep him from coming to watch your back,” Hutch said.
“You think he’s attracted because I don’t fall at his feet like the witches?” she asked.
“He’s attracted because you’re attractive… and then some,” Shorty said. “Don’t know why he doesn’t like the witch girls, but I can understand fully why he likes you.” He stood up and took his plate to the kitchen.
Hutch and Carl exchanged a glance before grinning at Stacia, who was watching Shorty walk away with a bemused smile.
“So you never answered the question… how do you feel about all those girls throwing themselves at him?” Hutch asked.
She frowned as she thought about it. “His mother was raped by his biological father. It was a set-up by the leader of the circle his mother and aunt were part of. He doesn’t like other witches. Most of the girls at his school just want him for his power, and he knows it. So I guess I don’t really worry too much about them,” she said, sounding a little uncertain, even to herself.
“But you’re not sure?” Hutch questioned.
“Well, I don’t know a lot about the new crop. I know he has no interest in the girls from last year, although there was this witch from Ireland who he kind of liked, but she got called back and a distant cousin of his replaced her. He loathes that one. I think he would be more likely to meet a girl in the bigger university where he takes most of his classes. I don’t know how I feel, so I haven’t dwelled on it,” she said.
“So if he texts you that he’s seeing some coed and she makes him happy, how would you feel?” Hutch asked, immediately pulling back from the look on her face.
“Got it.”
She hadn’t been able to stop the wave of fear and anger that sentence had caused her.
“Stacia, a word of advice… don’t play poker. You don’t hide emotions well,” Carl said.
“I guess I haven’t quite figured it out yet,” she said.
“Maybe he’s playing all the witches but chasing what he can’t get?” Shorty said, walking back over with two pies in his hands.
<
br /> “He’s not a slut. He went out with one girl last year, not a witch, and that was it,” she said.
“Are they all ugly?” Carl asked, absently, maybe wondering what it would be like to be young and chased by forty girls.
“No, not at all. The twins, in fact, are quite pretty,” she said.
“Twins?” Hutch and Shorty chorused together.
“Yeah. Swedish witch sisters. Got that Nordic huntress look going. They are sluts… or at least one of them is,” she said, helping herself to a slice of pumpkin pie.
