Yes! Give it to him! I almost want to cheer the alpha on, but I won't dare. On second thought, maybe I shouldn't want the alpha to win. Wyatt is more likely to turn around and kill me than he is to thank me for freeing him, considering I had been the one to capture him in the first place.
Maybe I should leave, but I need to know who wins this battle. This is one fight I’m sitting out on.
Hmm. I wonder if the leprechaun has any popcorn…
I slide toward the door to give them more space. The alpha is a massive beast of a wolf, and while the leprechaun’s living room is decently sized, it won’t take much time at all for the fight to come over to me.
As if to prove my point, the leprechaun picks up the alpha, lifts him up as high as he can, which isn’t all that high because of the ceiling, and throws the wolf. I have to dive forward and roll to avoid the alpha crashing into me. He slams into the door, thuds to the ground, lets out a howl, and bounds over to the leprechaun.
Oh, man. I forgot how freakishly strong leprechauns are. Most people think that leprechauns are short men with pots of gold and have a thing with luck. In actuality, they’re strong, can turn invisible, and a whole assortment of other abilities. Honestly, I’m not sure who will come out on top. The lingering effects of the gas don’t seem to be slowing the alpha down any, but he already battled me. Granted, the leprechaun is a fiercer foe. I’m realistic. I know I’m only human and that each time I entangle with one of them, I might be the one to die. If I do before fulfilling my quest… Well, I have nothing else to lose except my life. If it’s my time to go, I won’t cry about it.
The werewolf lunges at Donal, but the leprechaun teleports and reappears on the werewolf’s back. There’s a flash of silver in Donal’s hand, but the werewolf rolls over, preparing to crush the leprechaun, but he once again teleports.
Wyatt’s back on his paws, and Donal appears directly in front of him. He goes to strike the werewolf in the eye, but the alpha’s quicker and bites off the leprechaun’s arm. Donal lets out a cry and staggers back. He flickers but doesn’t teleport completely. I gasp as his arm starts to regrow. That’s right. I forgot, but leprechauns can regenerate.
Before the alpha can finish the job, the leprechaun does teleport. Wyatt whirls around in a circle, and the leprechaun appears on the far side of the room. The werewolf takes off toward him, but now, Donal’s in the opposite corner and then near me.
My heart starts to race. I do not want the fight right here, right by me. Any fatigue I felt from fighting the werewolves if gone, replaced by anxiety and unease. If the two of them decide to gang up on me, I’ll be a goner. Even when the leprechaun teleports to another spot, I can’t breathe easily.
Wyatt doesn’t move, watching, waiting. Donal’s using up too much energy and magic, and a pattern starts to emerge in where he’s appearing. Wyatt must notice it too because he slowly moves to a certain spot near the center of the room. When Donal next appears, Wyatt’s paw curls around the back of the leprechaun’s head. A quick bite and that’s that. Even leprechauns can’t regenerate their heads.
The werewolf shifts, and Wyatt stands before me wearing jeans and a buttoned-down shirt. I'm seriously glad shifters have magic, so they're wearing clothes and not walking around naked all of the time. Not that I understand how the magic works, of course.
Despite the battles and being slammed around, he appears relatively unharmed, aside from a few scrapes and bruises.
“I should kill you too,” he says without a trace of anger.
“I set you free.”
“You attacked me, and I have to believe that my pack did not let me go without a fight. You attacked them too, didn’t you?”
I say nothing. Silence can be damning, but the truth spoken aloud won’t help me any.
“You clearly are willing to go after my pack and me if the price is right,” he continues, “so I have a proposition for you.”
“I’m listening.”
"I am willing to pay you handsomely, so you'll leave my pack alone."
I appraise him critically. Is he serious?
I shake my head. “I’m not stupid. Your pack will hunt me down. They don’t need protection from me.”
If anything, I’m going to need protection from them.
“No. They will listen to me.”
Hmm. Theoretically, he’s right. His werewolves should obey his commands.
I lift my chin. “How much do you consider handsome?”
“How much did he pay you?”
I rifle through the short stack. “Roughly two thousand five hundred. I haven’t counted every bill to be certain.”
“I’ll turn that two thousand five hundred into a cool ten grand. How does that sound?”
“Seven thousand five hundred. To leave your pack alone and nothing more.”
“Leave my pack and me along,” he stresses.
“Yes, but I won’t be at your beck and call. Just leave you all alone. That’s it.”
“Of course,” he says smoothly.
Man, the guy is slick. He must make a killing. With his charming personality, he doesn’t seem sleazy at all, but he’s definitely an expert used car salesman.
“Oh, and I would like my dagger back.”
The alpha blinks a few times. “Your dagger. Who has it?”
“One of your wolves.”
“Why is it in his or her possession?” he asks, his charming tone fading away. He’s back to curling his upper lip in displeasure. If he can’t even keep his emotions in check, then how am I supposed to believe he’ll have the control to temper his pack?
Well, he’ll find out soon enough, but seeing his reaction will be telling. Very telling.
“I’m sure you’ll hear all about it.”
“Someone fled the fight with it buried in their side,” he assumes.
“More like their ear.”
Wyatt doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t respond.
“Look. I captured you, and I killed at least one of your werewolves. If someone else has a vendetta against you and hires me, I will take the job unless we make this deal. You aren’t reconsidering, are you?” I put my hands on my hips.
“How is it that a human can best a werewolf?” he growls, circling me.
I’m not intimidated… much.
“Maybe the better question is how can a werewolf be bested by a human?” I counter.
He says nothing.
“I can be an ally, or I can be… what someone else wants me to be.” I shrug. “The choice is yours.”
“I prefer ally.”
“Good.” I smile.
Inwardly, I’m laughing. This is such a farce. He’s so going by the mantra keep your friends close but your enemies closer.
“Then you have a deal.”
“Good.”
We shake hands.
The alpha rubs his hands together. "I don't have my checkbook on me, and I also need to talk to my pack to inform them that you are off-limits and an ally. Why don't we meet at my house in an hour?"
“Your house? No thanks. How about the playground on Dormont Avenue?”
The werewolf smirks. “You don’t trust me.”
“Would you trust me if I didn’t trust you?” I counter.
“Fair enough.” He holds out his hand.
We shake.
“Dormont Park in an hour,” he says.
“I’ll be there.”
Chapter 8
An hour is plenty of time.
Time for me to not show up.
Azir’s remark about my scent has given me a great idea. I know precisely what I need to do to ensure the werewolves can’t track me down. Well, they can if they want to bother with trailing my house. It’s a good thing I don’t have local haunts, although Ye Ole Chestplate had been a fun time.
I can’t do anything about my house, but I can do something about my own scent.
Deep within Pittsburgh, there’s a bookstore. It’s a front for a witch. We’ve bartered and
traded items before, so I call for an Uber and give the driver the address.
The driver glances over at me a few times. Finally, she asks, “Do you want to go to the hospital instead? Or an urgent care or something?”
“No.” I’m confused until I remember my cuts. With dried blood all over me, I have to be a sight to see. “Don’t worry about me. This is nothing. I’m an actor in a play, and I didn’t have time to wash up. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad you’re all right. Man, it looks so realistic! I thought I could even smell the blood.”
“Yeah, that’s the props master. She’s insane about it looking as real as can be.”
She asks a few more questions about the play, but I steer the conversation around until she’s talking about herself. People tend to prefer that, and she grins when I arrive.
“Have a good night!” she chirps after I pay her. “And thanks for being such a great rider. Some just sit there, and it’s awkward, and I don’t like to drive just a guy, you know? Makes me feel paranoid.”
“Then why be an Uber driver?”
“For the money. I’ve tried to get other jobs, but with my course load this year, I just don’t have fixed, available hours. This I can do when I have the time.”
“Ah.”
“Plus, I have Mace.”
“Get one of those Maglites.”
“Maglites?”
"Yes. Super heavy-duty flashlights that can be an awesome, handy, and convenient bat just in case."
“I don’t know,” she says doubtfully.
"You clearly want to be safe if you have Mace. Why not have something as a backup? Or, better yet, take self-defense classes."
“I don’t know,” she repeats. “I don’t have time—”
“And if your worries and fears actually happen? You’ll wish you would’ve made the time,” I say softly.
“You take karate lessons?” she asks.
I nod.
“Are you the only girl?”
“Not by a long shot.”
“Hmm. Maybe. I’ll look into it. Thanks.”
I wave as she drives off. Hopefully, she’ll listen. I think all girls should learn self-defense. It’s just smart, and without it, I never would’ve been able to know how best to lift a massive werewolf.
To my shock, the bookstore is empty. No one is here. I slink toward the back, to the concealed door for the witch when a teenager walks through the door. She stops short when she sees me.
“We’re closing up shop now,” she says.
“I’m here for Yolinda.”
Her eyes widen. “Didn’t you hear?”
“Hear what?”
“She’s moving. I’m helping to pack up the rest of her items.”
“Moving where? Why?”
"She wants to start getting more into the floral aspects of potion-making, and there just isn't an area here in the city for her to grow and cultivate them herself." The teen shrugs. She has Yolinda's eyes and mouth. My guess is that she's the witch's granddaughter.
“Great. Wonderful.”
“You need a witch?” the teen asks softly.
I crack a smile. “No, I need this.” I don’t look away from her as I grab a book off the nearest shelf.
“A cookbook about grilling all kinds of meats that’s marketed to men.” She grins. “I’ll ring that up for you.”
"Haha." I put the book back.
“It sucks that I’m not older. Grandma isn’t willing to defy my mom and teach me anything, and my mom is so strict it’s not even funny. At least next year, I can attend Magical Hunters Academy and… and…” She eyes me curiously.
I burst out laughing. “You just now realized I’m ordinary.”
“Not ordinary,” she says sheepishly. “Just…”
“Normal.”
“No one’s normal,” she argues with a grin. “But as opposed to paranormal, yes, normal fits. But you know about the door.”
“I’m Rebel. I don’t know if she’s told you—”
“The supernatural bounty hunter! I didn’t realize Rebel’s a human!” She gasps. “That makes what you’re doing that much more dangerous…” The teen blinks several times. “Um, do you want to wash up in the bathroom? I’ve cleared out nearly all of the herbs, but I might be able to find a healing potion or salve.”
“That would be great,” I tell her.
I quickly wash up, wincing as the soap and water contact my broken skin. The teen—Penelope—finds a salve as well as an ointment that makes the blood on my clothes congeal together and float as a ball right off my shirt and pants. Insane.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you more. Yolinda has already moved. She’s not here, and she’s not planning on coming back.”
“That’s all right. She has to do what’s best for her.” I tilt my head to the side. “Do you know of any other witches within the city?” I ask.
“There have to be other witches, but Grandmother—sorry, Yolinda—she hates it when I call her anything but her name in a professional setting, but it’s so weird. Anyhow, Yolinda never mentioned them to me by name. She would just rant about them all being hacks and hags.” Penelope grimaces. “I really am sorry I can’t help you out more. Is there anything else I can help you out with?”
“If you have more of that blood be gone stuff, that would be great.”
She giggles. “I’m sure you get a lot of blood on that.”
“I do have ten of these,” I say dryly. “I don’t wear this every day.”
Two minutes later, my pouch is a little lighter, but I’m stuck trying to find another witch to help me. For the most part, I don’t trust witches.
I'm not halfway down the block when I realize there's a woman standing on the corner. With a cowl over her head, her shoulders slumped, her ratty dress, the word that comes to mind is hag, and not because Penelope just used that word.
We make eye contact, and she shuffles toward me. "I don't mean to pry, but I happened to be walking by the store when I heard who you're looking for."
I say nothing.
“I can help you.”
“Can you now?” I ask dryly. This is far too convenient for my liking.
“What is it you need, child?”
“First, to not be called child.”
She purses her lips. She really is a witch, she's a really old one. Wrinkles mark her weathered face as she glares up at me.
I glance around to make certain we’re alone. “Second, I need a potion.”
“What kind?”
“Not saying here in public.”
“Hmm.” She crooks a gnarled finger at me and lumbers away.
I fall into step beside her. Her gait is so slow that it’s difficult for me not to overtake her. Considering I don’t know where we’re going, she has to go first.
Several streets over, she finally stops in front of a small floral shop. We head inside, and she snaps her twisted fingers.
Instantly, the shop transforms. Gone are the pots of flowers, replaced with vials and jars. She’s changed too, a woman with long, black hair that looks like silk, taller, thinner, younger, far more beautiful than before. Her eyes remain the same, dark and a little on the small size. Her nose is likewise small, but her purple-painted lips stretch wide across her face even when she isn’t smiling.
“Looks can be deceiving,” she says.
"Very true, but I'm guessing the other appearance is your real one."
She laughs, and I consider it a good sign that she’s not insulted.
“What is it you need? What kind of potion?” She walks forward and trails her fingers along a shelf’s horde of vials.
“I need to buy a potion to permanently change my scent.”
That way, the pack won’t be able to find me. I don’t trust Wyatt at all, and I’m certain that’s mutual.
“A potion like that is rare,” the witch says.
“Can you make it or not?”
“Can I? Yes.
I even have all of the ingredients on hand. That’s not the right question.”
I nod, doing my best not to scowl. “How much?”
“How much is it worth to you?”
I consider. I don’t want to lowball her, but I also don’t want to set a precedent that I’m willing to spend a ton on her stuff because she’ll only jack up her prices even more.
After scanning the nearest shelf and seeing the prices, I venture, “Three hundred.”
“Five,” she counters.
“Two fifty.”
She narrows her eyes. “That’s not how you negotiate.”
“It’s how I do it.”
“Four.”
“Three.”
“Three fifty,” she says.
“Three twenty-five.” I lift my chin.
“Very well, but I want it upfront.”
“Half upfront.”
The witch grumbles. “I need to be in a good mood, not a foul one, if I’m to conduct my magic.”
“That’s a new one by me. The other witch’s I’ve worked with just let money do the talking,” I comment airily.
“Go and have one of them do it then.”
I remove the short stack and peel off fifteen tens, reconsider, and add two more to the pile I hand her. “Just over half.”
She counts the money, and I scowl inwardly. The witch doesn’t trust me. I don’t blame her, but she should’ve at least turned around to count the bills.
“Wait here.” The witch grandly turns around, and only now do I realize her clothes have changed from rags to a beautiful and severely overdressed, elegant blue gown.
I wander around the shop, looking at the various potions—strength, endurance, vitality, love—and sigh. She’s probably a charlatan. What do you want to bet she’s long gone, running away with my money and laughing all the way to the bank?
“Easy come, easy go,” I mumble.
Right when I’m considering checking out the back because it’s been almost an hour, the witch returns. In her hand is a large jar, green with black specks inside. She halts before me, a table between us. The witch removes a large bowl from beneath the table and places it on top of a vial. With practiced care, she pours the contents of the jar into the bowl. The green liquid filters through to the vial.
Hunter's Quest: A Mayhem of Magic World Story (Rebel, Supernatural Bounty Hunter Book 1) Page 5
