Wild Sign

by Briggs, Patricia

  Such an unobservant man, noted Brother Wolf, working in a place like this is doomed. If we kill him now, we would just be doing him a favor.

  Brother Wolf was a lot more talkative than usual. Charles couldn’t figure out if it was the emotional upheaval of the Singer’s attack on Anna or Underwood bespelling her—or if it was a side effect of all the magic in this place.

  This is a very interesting place, Brother Wolf enlightened him. I have hope that we will kill some witches here before we go. This one would do.

  “Anna and Charles Cornick,” Underwood said. “Your names are familiar to me. Very familiar.” He gave Anna a sad-eyed look, and a soft billow of magic puffed out to land upon both Anna and Charles. “Carrie Green was an only child and she was not married. You are not her sister-in-law. But the Cornick name is well-known among people who are witchborn.”

  “Is it?” said Anna, who was, hit by Underwood’s magic, supposed to feel guilty. But for now, her politeness looked close enough to guilt for Underwood, because he looked faintly satisfied.

  “Charles Cornick, the scourge of werewolves, the Marrok’s assassin—and the woman who rules him,” Underwood said.

  Was that what the witches were saying about his Anna? True enough as far as that went. He wondered who else was saying that. Maybe that was why the FBI agents had concluded that Anna was the Marrok. If Anna had wanted to rule them all … Well, Charles couldn’t see his da giving over the care of his wolves to anyone while he lived, but Da listened to Anna. They all did.

  She could have ruled them all, Charles thought, but only because she would never think to rule any of them. Being the ruler of all she surveyed was just not anything his Anna desired—which was one of the reasons they could let their guard down around her.

  She was more than up to taking point against a second-rate witch like this. And she was better suited to get information out of him than Charles was. People liked to talk to Anna. People liked to run away from Charles. Both of those things pleased him.

  “Yes?” Anna said in response to Underwood’s I-know-who-you-really-are reveal. Her mild tone made Underwood’s lips thin.

  The best part, as far as Charles was concerned, was that the question in her tone meant that she wasn’t lying to the witch. It wouldn’t be her fault if Underwood misunderstood.

  Witches couldn’t smell a lie, but they had their own ways of detecting untruths, not that Underwood was using any of them. If Charles were to hazard a guess, it would be that Underwood did not have the magic to spare. He wondered how much of Underwood’s magic went to just keeping him safe from the black witches who employed him.

  As I told you, he would be better off if we killed him now, agreed Brother Wolf in a lazy tone that fooled Charles not a bit.

  Underwood settled back in his chair and rocked it a little. “Did you think you could come here, into the heart of our power, and leave without a payment, Anna?”

  Charles could feel Anna’s intention to produce Carrie Green’s check—though she knew full well that wasn’t the kind of payment that Underwood was talking about. He tightened his hand on her shoulder to stop her.

  It could be dangerous to give something to a magical being, especially something like a check, which was, in essence, a payment for things owed. Magic tended to be symbolic. It was the reason that Anna’s gift of song in that amphitheater had allowed the Singer to attack her. She had offered a gift—and the Singer had taken her up on her offer.

  He didn’t think Underwood was powerful enough for that to be a real threat. But Charles was here to guard Anna against any possibility of harm—and Underwood wasn’t the only witch in play here.

  As if in answer to that thought, Charles heard someone cat-footing it down the hallway. Like everything else in this place, they did not stink of black magic, but the power that one carried … the last time he’d faced someone that strong, he’d nearly died. And witches only gained that weighty realness, the kind he could sense in his skin, from stealing death and pain from their victims.

  Anna, apparently unaware of the more dangerous opponent approaching, asked, “What do you want from us, Dr. Underwood?”

  The footsteps stopped. Whoever was out there—and he’d lay odds it was a woman, both because of the power she held and because of the faint smell of some flowery perfume—was listening on the other side of the door.

  I am ready, Brother Wolf told him. And there was none of the unreliable violence in his voice that sometimes accompanied their encounters with witches.

  Charles prepared himself for a quick shift. He could deal with magic at the level of a witch of Underwood’s power. But he’d found the werewolf to be more effective against anyone of greater ability. It was hard for a witch to shape magic with fangs in their throat.

  Anna knows the threat is outside this room, Brother Wolf told him. She is prepared to deal with Underwood. Which she can. Some would underestimate her physical speed and power, but we do not make that mistake.

  The last was said with such pride in their mate’s prowess that Charles had to work not to smile. Anna could handle Underwood.

  “I want to know where Wild Sign is,” Underwood said. “Carrie was nothing when she brought Daniel Green to us. She had barely enough magic to light a candle. Without that artifact she carried, he would have eaten her alive.”

  Ah, thought Charles, that’s why no one had eaten Carrie Green. He had heard of artifacts, tuned to the witch who wore one, that could prevent power grabs by other witches. He’d never seen one himself and knew they had attained a mythical status among most white witches. But Charles had seen other mythical magic artifacts, and he was willing to believe Carrie had such a thing.

  Anna did not speak into the silence Underwood gave her.

  He gave Anna a real smile. “Without that artifact, we might have eaten her alive, too. If you find it, you should bring it to me—a silver necklace with a moonstone flanked by diamonds.”

  This influence spell was stronger. Precast, Charles assumed. A spell Underwood used often enough to make up for the trouble of setting runes under the oriental carpet or perhaps on the client chairs. But it wasn’t strong enough to penetrate the protections Charles had set upon Anna.

  The corner of Anna’s mouth quirked up, which wasn’t really the agreement Underwood obviously took it to be. Charles assumed that Brother Wolf was keeping her apprised of the magical attacks aimed at her.

  Underwood tapped his desk with his hands. “Where was I? Ah, yes. When Carrie Green brought her grandfather to us two years ago, she was a powerless white witch with a necklace to keep her safe.” He sounded like he was a little surprised the necklace had accomplished its task. “The last time Carrie Green attended to her grandfather, she was still a white witch with the amulet—yet she bore such a wake of magic that we all felt it when she walked onto the grounds of the garden.” He licked his lips, and his hunger smelled almost sexual.

  “Interesting,” said Anna.

  She was not wrong. It was verification that what Erasmus had told them had been true. Something had given Carrie Green more power. That it had been the result of an entity exchanging power for music was indeed interesting.

  There was a link between music and magic. His grandfather had used music as part of his healing and his spiritual life. In the hands of such a man as his grandfather, the patterns of music rendered in chords, rhythm, and tone called and shaped magic.

  “Ms. Cornick,” Underwood said. “You will tell me the location of Wild Sign, or you and your husband … mate? Mate, yes. You and your mate will not leave this building.”

  Silence grew in the office while Underwood made the journey from smugness to anger as he realized Anna had no intention of giving him what he wanted. He increased the power of the magic he was using, breaking into a sweat with the effort.

  Charles watched, but the magic continued to slide off the protections he’d laid on Anna. If that changed, it would be time to kill the witch.

  “We are werewolve
s,” Anna told Underwood when sufficient time had passed to make her point—he couldn’t make her do anything. “Your magic does not affect us.”

  Both true statements, thought Charles happily. Maybe, depending upon who was listening, the witches here might start wondering if all werewolves had some undefined immunity to witchcraft. Then more witches would be told that. He could feel the intensity of the witch lurking in the hall, hanging on Anna’s words.

  “If you want to leave here,” Underwood whispered, “you will tell me what I want to know.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Anna. “Besides, I don’t deal with underlings.”

  Charles did not grin as she stole the tone directly from the most arrogant wolf he’d ever met—but it was a struggle. He would make her use it on Asil and see if that old wolf recognized his own medicine.

  Behind them, called by Anna’s words, the door opened, revealing a slender woman of much less than average height. She wore glasses, red lipstick, and a suit that seemed like it was supposed to make her appear businesslike—but actually made her look like a teenager playing dress-up.

  Warned by Charles’s abrupt grasp on the back of her chair, Anna picked up her feet. Charles dragged her chair around so that both of them had their backs to a wall and a good view of the witches. Anna put her feet down delicately as he released the chair.

  “Well, hello,” Anna said to the newcomer in dulcet tones. “Are you in charge around here?”

  For a moment Charles could see the newcomer consider a “Who, me?” response, and then her personality lit her face. She gave him a wicked smile. Him, not Anna. Her mistake—and an interesting one for a witch to make. Exactly the opposite mistake Underwood had made.

  Wolves were pack animals. It made them stronger. Both of them were dangerous.

  “Not me, precisely,” the witch said. “But close enough.”

  She looked at Underwood. “You are lucky that Mary Frank thought to tell me Daniel Green was to have visitors and who they were.”

  Underwood had gone white and he sat very still. If Charles hadn’t been able to feel the woman’s power, Underwood’s reaction would have warned him.

  “Carrie Green was something of a puzzle,” she said, returning her attention to Charles. “It was inevitable that she would draw attention among the”—she glanced at Anna—“underlings. He is right about this: we certainly took notice of her sudden elevation in power without accompanying corruption. We all make choices. We give up some things for power. It is”—she smiled again—“a little bit enraging when someone seems to gain the prize without the sacrifice.”

  Is she trying to charm us? asked Brother Wolf. Does she think we are stupid?

  Anna waited, giving Charles a chance to take over, since the newcomer was addressing him. He chose not to. When he didn’t say anything, Anna spoke. “What do you want from us?”

  “That is a proper question,” the witch said, still speaking to Charles. “First, I will deal with my problem.” She looked at the man behind the desk and sighed.

  She walked past Charles and Anna. And as she walked, Charles noticed the way she balanced her body and the way the excellently tailored clothes were a tad bit loose around her waist. She was pregnant.

  Well, that put a fly in the ointment. Charles had no qualms at all about killing a black witch—but a baby … a baby changed things.

  The witch rounded the desk and put her hand on Dr. Underwood’s. From the way his eyes widened until they showed the whites like a nervous horse, Underwood did not want her to touch him. But he did not pull away—and she was not using magic to make him stay where he was.

  After a few seconds, the doctor’s body relaxed. His expression softened to bemusement.

  “Hey, Dr. Underwood,” the witch said in a cheery voice. “I heard your daughter is missing you. I think you should call home and check up on her. Use the staff lounge for privacy because I requested the use of your office. Mom co-opted mine again. When you get off the phone, it will be time for your rounds. You won’t think much about Daniel Green’s visitors. They came and talked for a little, but it turns out he wasn’t the person they were looking for. Daniel Green is a common name.”

  “Okay,” he said. He gave Charles and Anna a mildly embarrassed look. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have to go call my daughter.” He smiled pleasantly and then hurried out the door.

  When the door shut behind him, Charles spoke, having changed his mind about how to deal with this witch. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Anna to handle the witch—Anna was much less likely to turn this into an unnecessary fight. But he did not know this witch, except that she was powerful. He decided to keep her attention on him and not on Anna. Against black magic, it was his job to be Anna’s shield.

  “You paid for your power with corruption,” he told the witch. “Carrie paid for hers with her life—and she got very little use out of the power she gained. My father sent us to find out what happened. Daniel Green—who I know as Daniel Erasmus—”

  The witch made a comical wince—yes, they had changed his name when he came here.

  “—has given us the final keys to the mystery of what happened at Wild Sign. My father will see this flawed avenue of power destroyed. It need not concern you further.”

  He had a reputation that he had carefully cultivated. It said that he did not lend himself to long, involved explanations to the enemy.

  The witch gave him an amused look. She started to say something, but Anna spoke first.

  “Is it Dr. or Ms. Hardesty?”

  That made the witch pay attention to his mate. It also made Charles pay attention. Hardesty was a name they had come up against recently. How had Anna known this was one of the Hardesty witches?

  “Ms.,” the witch said. She smiled prettily. “My mother is the MD and PhD. You can call me Cathy if you’d like.”

  “Cathy, this is not the cross you want to hang your family on,” Anna said, coming to her feet. “Your family has lost power this year already. Twice.”

  Once with them, once with Charles’s foster sister, Mercy.

  “Neither event involved a direct confrontation with Bran himself. You want to leave it that way.” Anna gave Ms. Hardesty a sweet smile—a match to the one the witch had been throwing around. “Trust me.”

  Anna walked toward the door. The witch blocked her.

  “Your people might be able to stop us leaving,” said Anna in a low voice. “But not before my mate tears your throat out.”

  Charles took that as a hint and let the change from man to wolf rip through him. With the excess magic in the atmosphere, the change took even less time than usual. He smelled the witch’s sudden fear at the speed of his shift—and perhaps at the sight of the big wolf. He snarled softly and enjoyed the stink of her fear spiking.

  Anna stared at the witch. “Be smart,” she said. Then she shrugged and said in a bored voice, “Or be dead.”

  When she started walking again, the witch moved out of the way. Charles followed her, but he walked so he could keep his eyes on Ms. Hardesty, who seemed to be amenable to allowing them to leave, though she didn’t say as much. He wondered if her actions, like his, were hampered by her pregnancy.

  When he got to the doorway, he gave the witch a careful, eyes-up-and-watchful bow. Then he resumed his human form, closed the door between them and the witch, and followed ten feet behind his mate all the way out the front door.

  TAG WAS SITTING on the hood of the SUV playing games on his phone. He stayed there until Anna opened the driver’s side door, and then he hopped down. There was a bit of a depression in the metal of the hood.

  “Hope what you found was worth it,” Tag murmured, passing Charles on the way to his door. “This place is a witch-hive, and they started swarming about ten minutes ago. They are giving me the creepy-crawlies for sure.”

  The parking lot was certainly fuller than it had been when they’d arrived, Charles noted, though Tag was the only person visible.

  As soon
as everyone was belted in, Anna—in a very un-Anna-like fashion—gunned the SUV out through the open gates, which swung shut behind them. There was nothing mechanical involved in their movement.

  Charles wasn’t sure of the exact message the witches intended for them to take from that. Don’t come back? We could have trapped you anytime we wished? Leave us alone?

  No one said anything until they were on the highway back to Happy Camp.

  “Are you going to tell me what you found?” Tag asked. “Not that I’m curious about what the two of you got up to in Witch Central or anything.”

  Anna filled him in on everything. When she was finished, she said, “Tell me why we left that old man to be tortured.”

  “Daniel Erasmus—” Charles began.

  “Erasmus?” roared Tag, jerking forward in a motion that threatened to rip his seat belt out of the Suburban. “You found Erasmus?” Then, calming somewhat, he growled, “Tell me that you left him in little pieces that somehow clung to life … or—” He paused, smiled in understanding, and relaxed like a big cat in the sun. “Or maybe you left him in the care of black witches who torture him every day and will eventually kill him and feed on his death to extract every bit of his power.”

  Charles had forgotten that Tag had been one of the wolves his da had brought to help clean up the mess in Utah.

  “What did he do?” Anna said, but less like she was worried that she’d left an innocent man to suffer needlessly.

  “Made me kill children,” growled Tag.

  “Trafficked in minors,” said Charles.

  “Sex trade,” said Tag, in case Anna had misunderstood Charles’s terms. “Erasmus and his wife got their hands on children and then used magic to eat their minds. Left behind puppets.” He shivered. “Evil.”

  Anna gave a sharp nod. “So it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” she said. By now she’d slowed back down to her usual grandma-going-to-church pace so she could safely take a hand off the wheel to rest it on Charles’s leg. “Okay.”

  “How did you know the witch was a Hardesty?” Charles asked.