Warmongers and Wands

by Dunbar, Debra

  “Did Celesta just forget about me?” I’ll admit I snarled a bit with those words. I was bitter. I had good reason to be bitter.

  “I think she might have. We’re not skilled in demonology. Maybe she thought you just went back after a certain amount of time. Maybe she couldn’t figure out how to return you.” Bronwyn looked up at me, her eyes soft and full of sympathy. “Maybe she did forget about you.”

  I swallowed hard and turned away. Was that how it would be with us? Would Bronwyn leave once her leg healed and never return? Would her promises to free me fade in her memory as time went on and she found herself unable to find the correct ritual?

  Would I ever see her again?

  A hand touched my arm. I hadn’t even heard her get up or heard the noise of her crutches on the floor.

  “I won’t forget about you, Hadur. I won’t fail you, and I won’t forget about you. Ever.”

  I turned to face her, pulling her gently into my arms. “But what if you can’t find the ritual to release me, Bronwyn? What if I’m trapped here forever?”

  She put her hand on my cheek, sliding her fingers down to tangle in my beard. “Then I’ll be trapped here with you. Forever. Until my dying day.”

  That…that would be the one thing that would truly make me feel free while trapped in this summoning circle.

  “I’m yours, my witch,” I whispered to her.

  “And I’m yours, my demon,” she replied.

  Chapter 13

  Bronwyn

  I was ready to toss these spell books through the window. Except the cabin only had one tiny window. I wondered why that was? If Diebin had been able to lug a feed tub for baths and a giant cast-iron soup pot through the woods, then certainly he could have dragged three or four nice sets of energy-efficient windows.

  I’d been through two of the spell books and found nothing to do with demons. Nothing. Clearly there had been some unspoken family taboo about summoning and using demons because not only had Celesta never referred to her actions in her journals, but neither she nor Matilda had anything about hell’s minions in their spell books. Had there been a separate book she’d used for this ritual? For the research she’d put into this? Something she kept hidden so others might not see? I was beginning to believe that. If so, I was worried the book might not have survived two hundred years.

  One thing I was positive of—there was a book. No witch did this stuff from memory. All the details, all the research, and the initial efforts were meticulously recorded. I had a spell book. Cassie had a spell book. Every one of my sisters had a spell book. To not keep track of these things in detail was the sort of sloppy magical practice none of us would have been guilty of. I refused to believe Celesta was any different. She’d been very exact in the spell book I’d spent the afternoon reading. There had to be another more secret one somewhere.

  But where?

  I clenched my jaw at the thought that I might not find it, that it might have inadvertently been destroyed. Our family tried to keep all the spell books—not just those of the head witches. Journals we might be more careless of, but not spell books. Even the most powerless of witches might have knowledge we’d need some day. Throughout the centuries we might have changed, our focus shifted, but no one ever took the value of a spell book lightly.

  For example, if our house burned to the ground, these things would still be there among the ashes, unharmed. That’s how seriously we took our preservation efforts.

  It had to be somewhere. And if it wasn’t…well, then, I’d need to search the globe for any of the other witches who’d survived the burning times. I’d find the correct ritual. I’d free Hadur.

  And if I couldn’t, then I’d remain with him until my dying breath. I’d made that promise and I meant it. But I wasn’t about to see Hadur trapped, knowing that he’d still be stuck here after my death. No, finding that ritual would be my life’s focus.

  Sorry centaurs, those blingy horseshoes would need to wait a bit.

  “Need a break?” Hadur asked. “I can cook something up for dinner. One of these canned things, or that box of macaroni your sister brought.”

  “I need to get out of this cabin,” I told him. “I’m going a bit stir crazy, and these spell books aren’t helping.”

  He eyed my leg. “With your crutches? We’re in the woods. The ground is uneven and it’s rocky. Maybe we could just go outside and sit. Get some fresh air. Or I can carry you if there’s a certain place you want to see.”

  I loved that he had this need to take care of me. No one besides Cassie had ever been that way toward me. Maybe my grandmother when I was little. Maybe my mother when I was an infant. But by the time I was eight, both of them had been occupied with more serious matters. And by the time I was eleven, Grandmother was dead and Mom was gone and there was only Cassie.

  Two years older than me. She’d done everything she could to mother us, but I’d grown up with her as a peer, sharing a bedroom, hiding under the covers with flashlights, reading at night. Her efforts to make me feel safe were admirable, but I’d seen through them to the scared teenager who was struggling to care for six sisters all while grieving for a beloved grandmother and hiding her fury toward a mother who’d left us all behind.

  Mom had her reasons. But her leaving had meant there were few people who’d ever protected me, who’d ever fussed over me, who’d ever put me first.

  So, I loved Hadur for his suggestion. And I also knew I couldn’t let him coddle me.

  “I’ve got another idea. Let’s head out to my truck. I haven’t seen it or my trailer since I got hurt, and I want to take a look at it.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Perhaps you shouldn’t.”

  I stood. “Perhaps I should. I’m going. You can either go with me or stay here.”

  He sighed. I swear I saw him roll his eyes. “Fine. Can I at least carry you?”

  “No.” I hobbled to the door. “Maybe. Only if I get too tired or I can’t make it up a hill or something. I need fresh air. I need exercise. I’m ready to jump out of my skin right now and it’s been a week since I had my accident. Three more weeks like this? Trust me, you won’t want to be near me if I can’t get out and get moving a bit.”

  I headed out, the war demon behind me.

  “Turn left. Head up the path, then turn left after the blackberry bush.” He followed me, close enough that he could catch me if I fell, but far enough away that he didn’t seem like he was hovering over me.

  I shuffled along, breathing heavy and sweating by the time I took that left at the blackberry bush.

  And this time it really was sweat.

  I barely recognized my truck when it finally came into view. It didn’t even look like a truck. I looked up, up the steep, rock-strewn hill, past the smashed saplings and crushed bushes, up over what had been a breathtakingly sheer drop from the road. Then I looked at the twisted hunk of metal half buried in limbs and briars.

  I cried. I cried about the loss of my beautiful truck and trailer, for the tools and forge that were somewhere scattered down this mountainside. I cried with relief that I’d somehow survived this horrific crash with minimal injuries. I could have died. I should have died. And looking at the wreck brought it all home to me.

  Strong arms came around me and I leaned into Hadur’s chest, not worrying about the tears and snot soaking his shirt. What miracle had allowed me to survive this crash? What miracle had made me go off the road right at Hadur’s spot, sent me crashing into the woods inside the confines of his summoning circle? If the truck had come to a stop just ten feet farther, he would have been unable to reach me, to help me.

  Surely there was an angel looking over me. Or maybe a demon.

  “Let me carry you back to the cabin,” Hadur rumbled. “I’ll make something for you to eat. I’ll brew some hot tea. I’ll kiss you and take your mind off everything that saddens you.”

  The funny thing was, he could. Not just with sex or food or tea, but just by his presence. I was a bit of a loner, b
ut I’d spent a week with this demon. I’d spent the whole day side-by-side with him just reading journals and spell books. And I was completely happy doing that. With him by my side, my injury wasn’t a big deal. With him by my side, that tiny cabin was a home.

  “I’m okay.” I told him, sniffing as I pulled away. “I do want to check the truck for anything Diebin may have missed, though. And I want to check something else. I’ll need your help.”

  “I live to serve.” His voice was teasing, his hands smoothing back my hair.

  “Good, because you’re going to have to do a lot of the heavy lifting here. And I do mean heavy lifting.”

  I made my way over to the remains of my truck while Hadur pulled limbs and boulders out of my way, throwing them with admirable strength off to the side.

  “You know, you’re totally turning me on,” I told him as I peered into the driver’s side and shuddered at the scene. Blood. Glass. Mangled dashboard. Deflated airbag.

  “I’ll remember that. The witch likes feats of strength.”

  “Well, bring your feats over here, will you? I’d like you to open the hood. Or rip it off if you have to.”

  He shot me a sideways glance. “Planning on starting it and driving out of here?”

  I laughed. “Now that would be magic. No, I want to see what happened to my brakes. Maybe I’m just being paranoid about the werewolves. Brake lines fail. Shit happens. I don’t want to start a war over a mechanical failure.”

  He moved to the front of the truck, snapping off a thick branch and tossing it aside. “You’ll be able to tell if it was tampered with or not?”

  I shrugged. “A clean break on an otherwise solid brake line? I’m assuming so. Of course, with the truck smashed up like this, I might not be able to even find the brake line.”

  Another branch flew off to the side. I heard the squawk of metal. Hadur grunted, then the metal squawked again, the hood peeling free from the car like the skin from an orange.

  “Can you make it over here to look?” Hadur asked. “I’ve got no idea what I’m seeing.”

  “Guess Diebin never brought you any issues of Popular Mechanics or Chilton manuals,” I teased, carefully making my way to the front of the truck. I took good care of my vehicle. There hadn’t been any brake noise, no vibration or pulling to one side when braking, no spongy brake pedal, no distinctive smell of burning brake fluid or puddles in my driveway. So, either this had been a sudden, catastrophic failure—which could happen—or someone had messed with my truck.

  I leaned against what remained of my left front fender and looked down into the engine compartment. Setting the crutches aside, I bent over, trying to get closer.

  “Shit. I can’t…damn this broken leg. I can’t get close enough to see.” I straightened up with a huff of exasperation. “Forget it. This was a dumb idea. I can’t crawl around under the car or get myself in the places I need to be to check this out. It’s just going to have to wait.”

  “Let me do it,” Hadur said. “Tell me what to look for, and I’ll do it.”

  I pointed. “See that there? That’s the master cylinder and the reservoir. They hold the brake fluid.”

  “Now you’re turning me on,” he commented, half-crawling over the car. “Here?”

  “Yep, that’s it. The lines are those tubes there. They lead to a combination valve, then to the wheels. There’s a hydraulic control unit under the car for the lines running to the rear wheels. It’s a closed system. The fluid circulates.”

  “Maybe they cut it by the wheels,” he suggested. “If so, I’ll have to flip the truck over and check from the bottom.”

  I loved how he casually suggested flipping the truck over, like that would take no effort at all.

  “I don’t think that’s where the break is. If it happened by a wheel, then the fluid would leak out each time I used the brake. The others would work the first few times I applied the brake pedal, getting soft then not working at all as the fluid squeezed out the broken section by the one wheel. No, they either cut the line at all four wheels, or they cut it here by the master cylinder.”

  “Sounds quicker and easier to do it here,” he said.

  “Yep, that’s what I’m thinking. A cut line, or bust the master cylinder with the reservoir, and it’s all going to hell. I’d maybe get one soft braking in, then it would be pedal to the floor.”

  “I have no idea what that means exactly, but okay.” He looked down at the master cylinder. “It looks smashed, but everything under here looks smashed.”

  “But was the hood smashed there? Because the hood should have a big ole dent right there if it happened from the wreck.”

  “The hood looks like someone took a sledge hammer to it,” Hadur commented. “I’m no expert, but I can’t say whether this happened in the wreck or not.”

  “How about the line then? Grab it and gently pull on it. See if it’s not attached or cut. There should be two lines leading from the master cylinder.”

  His hands vanished into the engine compartment. “Yep. They’re both cut. I can feel the edge of the hose attached to the master cylinder, then it just ends. It’s jagged and sharp, not worn or frayed.”

  I let out a breath, not sure whether that was the answer I wanted to hear or not. “Okay, one more thing, please. I want to check the emergency brake line. It’s a cable line, and it’s separate from the hydraulic of the brake system. It goes from the emergency brake pedal, under the truck, to the back tires.”

  He stood up, wiping grease and dirt from his hands. “If you want me to look at that, I’m going to need to flip the truck. Which means I want you far enough away that you won’t get hit by anything.”

  I hobbled backward until he told me I was a safe distance. Then the demon bent down and grabbed the truck, turning it on its side. Once he was sure the truck was stable, he stepped back and sent me a questioning glance.

  Before I could tell him what to do, I heard a noise, a rustle in the briars off to my right. It normally wouldn’t have sent up any alarms on my radar, but clearly the noise meant something different to Hadur. The demon raced toward me with inhuman speed, scooping me up and dashing back, depositing me on the other side of my wrecked truck. Then he vanished in a blur. Seconds later I heard a crashing noise followed by a yelp and a panicked voice pleading for mercy. By the time I’d struggled to my feet and peeked over the edge of the truck bed, I saw Hadur coming out of the woods, holding Stanley aloft by the back of his shirt.

  Chapter 14

  Bronwyn

  The werewolf was limp in an utterly submissive pose that any other time would have been hysterical. Instead, my pulse raced to see him. My truck had been tampered with. The werewolves wanted me dead. And I wasn’t sure if Cassie’s threats would keep them back or not.

  Why was Stanley here? Spying on us in preparation for an attack? Was he sent to take me out himself? Or spin me some lie designed to get me out of the safety of Hadur’s circle and to somewhere he could kill me?

  Hadur marched up to me and threw the werewolf down at my feet. “Talk,” he commanded.

  I flinched, for a second thinking that order was meant for me.

  “Don’t kill me, don’t kill me,” Stanley pleaded, his hands protectively over his head. “I was being noisy on purpose, so you could hear me coming. I need to talk to you. I need to tell you something. So don’t kill me.”

  Good grief. When had Stanley become such a wimp? “I can’t vouch for Hadur, but I don’t have any immediate plans to kill you, so talk.”

  The werewolf glanced around. “Can we go somewhere more private? The cabin?”

  I nodded. Hadur went to grab Stanley, no doubt to perp-walk him back to the cabin, then he hesitated, looking at my leg.

  “I can walk,” I told him. Then I realized something. “Well, I could if you hadn’t rushed me over here without my crutches.”

  It wasn’t just the crutches, either. I was on the opposite side of the truck with no clear and easy way to get back to the path. The d
emon did a back and forth between the werewolf and me.

  “Carry me over to my crutches,” I told Hadur. “Stanley, you make one wrong move and I’ll curse you bald for the next six months.”

  I couldn’t do curses, but Stanley didn’t know that. He blanched, reaching up to touch his thick beard. Werewolves were hairy—like really hairy. Even the women. It didn’t make them much fun at the pool in the summer, but having a chest and back that looked like a throw rug was a source of pride to them. The more hair, the better—legs, back, face, chest. The works. Being hairless would send Stanley into a humiliated self-imposed isolation for six months. It was an effective threat, even if it was a threat I had no ability to carry out.

  Hadur picked me up, taking me to my crutches then hovering protectively by me as I got things organized and made my way down the path. He followed with Stanley’s arm held firmly in his grasp. Back at the cabin, I sank into a chair, worn out from my exertions. Hadur made Stanley stand over by the door, then went to pour me some tea.

  The werewolf fidgeted. “I could be killed for this, you know. If it gets out that I warned you, that I was involved in any of this, I won’t be safe either in Dallas’ pack or Clinton’s. If I need help, can I rely on the witches to give me sanctuary? Like they did with Shelby?”

  Pack law didn’t allow for lone wolves. It also didn’t allow the females to have sexual relations with anyone but a male werewolf. Shelby had gotten herself in a pickle by falling in love with a female troll. Clinton had been about to rat her out to Dallas, so rather than face a forced mating and a lifetime confined to the pack compound, Shelby had decided to eliminate Clinton and keep her secret a secret.

  Luckily, Clinton had survived. Luckily Cassie had felt sorry for Shelby and decided to bend the human law our town based its governance on and call the whole thing aggravated assault. Shelby got community service, but she also got a sort of refugee status in the town. She was a lone wolf, unaffiliated with either pack. There would be no reprisal for either Shelby’s attack on Clinton or her relationship with Alberta. Any wolf who decided to take the law into his own hands would face Cassie. And no one wanted to face Cassie when she was pissed off.