by Celia Kyle
My fingers cracked and bones groaned, the animal creeping forward as if it was afraid my human mind would push it back. Claws pressed against my fingertips, and I knew without looking that my pretty manicure was ruined by midnight nails.
A flare of bright white light slid across me, shining in my eyes for a split second before the vehicle turned and shined its headlights elsewhere. A sleek, black BMW pulled up in front of the house and rolled to a stop beside my beat up car. I kept my gaze trained on the car, the big hunk of shiny metal that tempted my inner pixie. How much fun would it be to run my wolf’s nails along that pristine paint?
I paused in my shift but didn’t push the wolf away completely. There was no way to tell if the newcomer was a threat to my crumbling world. If they were, I’d shift and be on top of ‘em before they got both feet out of the door. I needed an outlet for this energy? It looked like it’d just arrived.
Screw pizza delivery. I had prey delivery. Fun.
The man who emerged didn’t look like an immediate threat though that didn’t do a bit to ease my tension. He was a pretty boy, dressed in a custom tailored suit—no way was he getting that fit off the rack—shining gold cuff links, a red silk shirt, and no necktie.
The tie thing shouted “demon,” but I wasn’t getting that vibe. Ties were a joke in dem-land. Back in the good old days—when I still rocked the Morningstar name day to day—ties had started as napkins worn by the upper class.
High-class bibs. No lie.
And they’d stuck around. I’m pretty sure that’s Uncle Luc’s doing, though. All it would take was a whisper from the devil and a human would dance to his tune. I’d tried it once and by the time all was said and done… corsets were a thing.
I made my way toward him, gravel crunching under my boots. “I know you’re not a dem,” I voiced my thoughts aloud. “Because even the dumbest dems know that Orlando’s off limits.” I stopped when I reached him, shifted my weight to one leg and propped a hand on my hip. I tapped my fingers on the leather that sat low on my waist, making sure the wolf’s claws were visible. “And if they’re so stupid as to forget, they are smart enough to steer clear of me. So…”
A wicked grin parted his lips, revealing pristine white teeth. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked me up and down without a hint of fear entering his expression. From my leather combat boots—Prada—to my indigo-streaked hair—Joico.
“Definitely not a dem,” he practically purred the words, pursing his lips in approval at what he saw. “But you could say I’m from the same neighborhood.” He extended his hand, smirk gracing his lips. “Killian. Killian Howe.”
“Well Howe about you get lost?” A girl liked to be ogled, but whatever game he was up to, I wasn’t in the mood. My downtown area hadn’t been in the mood for a long time. A year if I wanted to put a number on it. Basically since I’d found my mate standing over Bry’s crib, the taint of my uncle coating him in pure evil.
Yeah, I wasn’t going back to those memories. Not while my emotions were so raw and nearly bleeding.
I strode past him, the wolf pacing in the back of my mind and anxious to get its fur on.
“Your uncle sent me,” he called out and I paused mid-step.
I slowly turned to face him once more. My fingers twitched, claws ready to burst free and dig into the man and send him back to my uncle in tiny pieces. “Uncle Luc needs to develop better timing. I’m busy.”
“Understandable.” That smarmy smirk remained in place while he reached into his jacket. I tensed, waiting for some sort of attack, but all he pulled out was a business card. He presented it to me. “I’m your uncle’s attorney. There are a few pressing business matters we need to discuss as soon as possible. Give me a call, whenever it’s more…” Those desirous eyes stroked me once more. “…convenient.”
I’d show him convenient with my foot up his ass.
I snatched the card from his hand and gave it a quick glance. Seriously? “Great,” I drawled. “An honest to Hell devil’s advocate.” I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Funny.”
“I assure you, this isn’t a joke,” Killian added. “Your uncle wouldn’t have sent me if the matter weren’t urgent.”
Right.
“Uh-huh.” I shoved the card in my pocket. “Message received, warning delivered, and request presented. Now, run back to Lucifer and let him know he—and his dems—can go fuck themselves.”
The reminder about Uncle Luc, what I lost and what the wolf still pined for, pushed away any remaining patience I had. Without another word, I broke into a run, putting distance between me and that asshole. I let the wolf burst free, clothes vanishing with a thought, whisked away by magic inherited from my pixie dad. Pixies thought disappearing clothes was a fun joke. I just found it convenient. I could bring ‘em back when I was done with my run and there’d be no scramble to cover up pink bits like regular werewolves.
I embraced the animal, letting it take over and run. It wanted to race and hunt, to pounce and rip something to shreds. But it also had other ideas, other pup-related ideas. It was anxious for the brownie I’d adopted as my young and mourned for his illness. For the first time since we’d lost our mate, the beast wasn’t pining which… was kinda nice.
I darted through the forest, ignoring the sounds of scattering animals and the crunch of dried leaves beneath my paws. I didn’t slow as I approached the road that bordered Momma R’s land, darting across the asphalt and into the woods on the other side.
I cut through side streets and down sidewalks, ignoring the humans I passed and the surprised shouts I left in my wake. My jet black fur melded with the shadows and darkness, and I was nothing more than a blur to the tweens I came across. The humans thought I was a dog, but the tweeners knew. They could sense my werewolf tendencies and the other parts of me that made me Caith Morningstar.
They knew and kept their distance. Fear was a very powerful motivator when it came to controlling the town, and they feared me. I could send them down to Uncle Luc, or worse, banish them entirely.
Which meant they knew better than to tell me no or deny any request I made. I wasn’t a total maniacal dictator. It wasn’t like my requests were odd or over the top… generally.
I didn’t think waking the witch who owned my fave magic shop in the middle of the night as over the top. And it was only my opinion that mattered.
I shifted back to two legs, the wolf quickly retreating since it knew exactly why we’d come to Crazy Cauldron. It’s the famous mouse’s hometown. It had to have a catchy name. One knock turned into two and then turned into a dozen before the owner finally answered the door.
Agatha took one sleepy look at me and then tugged the door open, muttering. “Jesus, Caith, do you know what time it is?”
I shuddered. “Yeah, no relation.” Though On High had tried to setup a little field trip for me once. That hadn’t gone over well. “And I need help. Bryony is sick.”
I explained everything as best I could. The fever, my son’s little jolt of hellfire and brownie origins. Anything that might be important.
The witch nodded, not looking surprised in the least. “If you had Sorsha treat him and he’s with Jezebeth and Helene, he’s getting the best care. I can see what I’ve got left that might help.” She frowned. “But there’s been a run on healing charms these past few weeks. Same sort of symptoms.”
That had me pausing. “You’ve had other customers who were sick? Like Bry?” I mean, I’d heard the elf’s words, but I guess I hadn’t heard them. Did he catch something from another tween? But there hadn’t been anyone new around him and—
“There are always people getting sick just like there are always humans buying the crap on my shelves.” Agatha waved at the retail area. A lot of what she stocked was for the humans who fancied themselves witches, looking for the magical bullet to make their lives better.
She kept digging through her drawers, tugging out a few charms, blessed candles and incense, a mummified dove, and a bottle of cough
syrup. “There’s been an upsurge lately, but I haven’t heard anything about a cure or treatment.” Agatha shrugged. “I don’t usually though. I only get visits when they need help, not after whatever’s wrong has been fixed.” The witch slid the final drawer shut. “If I get any rumblings though, I’ll let you know.”
My wolf growled, the sound vibrating my bones and making my entire body subtly tremble. The back of my neck itched and I recognized the feeling for what it was. There was something going on in my town. Something different. Not a sorceress playing with zombies or a sorcerer wanting to open up the mouth of hell beneath that singing boat ride in the local amusement park. Which, FYI, the world might be small, but hell wasn’t.
“Thanks.” Ugh, I thanked someone. “Send the bill to the bar. Berg will take care of it.”
I strode from the shop, listening for the click of locks and the feel of the witch’s wards sliding back into place. Momma R’s were the only ones that actually ever caused a sting. Everyone else’s more like a soft breeze.
I hoofed it back to Momma R’s with my bag, forced to run on two legs since Papa Percy’s pixie genes didn’t let me banish bags and packages like I did my clothes. Jezze thought it had to do with my clothing and weapons carrying some part of me.
I thought it was because Papa Percy could be kind of an asshole sometimes.
It took twice as long, my unease increasing with every step closer to Momma R’s, and by the time I hit the door, I burst past the wards and into the house. I dropped the bag on the dining table across the hall from the living room.
Jezze met me there and I was quick to question the woman. “How is he?”
“He’s been sleeping peacefully,” Jezze assured me and some of the tension in my chest eased. Some. “He— “
A scream split the night, echoing off the walls and filling the air with pain and desperation. Both of our heads shot up and swung toward the living room. I shot into action first, running across the hall and into the living room, boots sliding over the soft carpet, and then I dropped to my knees beside him.
His mouth remained open, the unearthly sound escaping his tiny mouth and ringing in my ears. It struck a chord deep in my heart and I ached for Bry. Thin rivulets of tears escaped his little eyes and I reached for him, intent on picking him up and giving him whatever comfort I could. But before I could even touch him, his screams stopped, replaced by a gentle coo and sweet smile as if he hadn’t been sobbing. I checked his forehead, hating that his fever was still present, though I was thankful the elf’s charms were keeping the worst of it at bay.
“That was… odd.” Jezze drew out her words, frown in place. “Screaming like he was being killed and then smiling like he just outsmarted you and got a cookie.”
One, the kid never outsmarted me. Occasionally, I simply unknowingly agreed to things. Two, Jezze was right, in a way.
“I know pain when I hear it, and that wasn’t it.” I shook my head, that sound replaying over and over again. “That was fear.”
Terror. Dread. Panic. Emotions my son shouldn’t experience. Ever.
“You’re the expert.” Jezze still sounded skeptical, but I didn’t have any doubt about what Bry just experienced.
We stayed in place, watching him sleep with that tiny smile on his lips. Peaceful. Content. No hint of what he’d just endured.
I pushed to my feet and gestured for the witch to follow me back to the dining room so I could show her what I’d snagged at the Crazy Cauldron.
With every step, the cries replayed, the memory of them sending shivers down my spine. Down my spine and nowhere else within me. Because I wasn’t my mother. I didn’t have another part of me that’d take joy in a child’s scream.
I hated that I kept having to remind myself that we were nothing alike.
Even if I enjoyed beating the crap out of asshole trolls and dems that pushed my buttons. But that was different. Right.
I grabbed my small bag, padded back to the kitchen and found Momma R pulling a pan of freshly baked muffins out of the oven.
I slid onto a seat at the bar and dug through the small bag. “I’m not hungry.”
“Nonsense.” A flick of her finger sent the muffins flying through the air, a cup of tea appearing next to a briefly empty plate. “You’ll eat. You need your energy to get through this.”
She was right. Dammit. Momma R was always right. That didn’t mean I’d say that aloud, though.
“While you were out,” she glided toward the bar, appearing to float rather than walk, “I called a couple of your fathers.”
I waited for my normal, knee-jerk reaction. The annoyance at involving my dads in my business. One dad who knew what was best for his little partially demon girl was bad enough. Five were nearly intolerable. But right now, with Bry in danger, I’d take any help I could get.
“Anything useful?” I tugged the top off the muffin.
“Well—” A knock at the door cut her off and Momma R called out to the visitor. “Come in.” The wards across the door slid away at her voice, granting the visitor entry.
Papa Finn with all his pure unicorn-y glory came in first, his arms overloaded with bags. Arms, not hooves. He spent most of his time on two legs rather than four. What with all of the humans in the world obsessed with unicorn lore. Even dressed in jeans, boots and a ratty t-shirt, he was the image of purity. It flowed from him, the graceful way he walked and the nurturing aura that enveloped him.
Some of my dads were growly and violent—Papa Al who taught me to harness the wolf and Papa Leth who handed me a sword the second I took my first step. They made me tough, made me fierce.
Papa Finn gave me love and enough purity that kept me from being completely damned.
I abandoned my muffin and raced to him, not caring that I was a woman of over six hundred. I was Papa Finn’s little girl at heart and I needed him.
I threw my arms around him, hugging him tightly, and cut right to the chase. “Can you help him, Papa?”
I got a gentle kiss on the top of my head, a blanket of calm drifting over me with that touch, and I released him. I stepped back, giving him space to move into the small kitchen.
“Not directly.” He placed his bags on the table. “I’m afraid there are limits to unicorn magic when it comes to supernatural illness. I can purify most poisons and disease, but nothing crafted by a witch or demon.” He reached into the nearest bundle. “I think there’s another way I could help.”
He pulled out a long stick, two angular pieces jutting out to form a Y. A variety of herbs, flowers, and other things I didn’t want to question soon followed.
“We tried all the healing magic we could,” I said. “But if you think— “
“This isn’t for healing,” Papa Finn cut in. “It’s for dowsing. Normally, when I don’t have Eron with me, I’d use a dowsing rod to find pure, clean water in the wilderness.” Yeah, Papa Eron came in handy during camping trips. Father Earth could always find the greatest stuff in the forest. “I can make sure it’s something safe to drink. But, under the right circumstances, I can identify what’s polluting the supply and reverse the effect.”
I followed his train of thought, trying to keep up with the twists and turns, but my exhausted brain managed to puzzle it through. “So, if you can search the house for something that’s impure or tainted, we might be able to figure out if it’s something he touched, ate, or drank.”
Or stuck in his mouth when he wasn’t supposed to. I’d baby-proofed my own house more than once, but Bryony always managed to find something. For a human parent, that might be a stray button or earing. For me, it was a random zombie eyeball or still-twitching finger.
Papa Finn worked with Momma R and Jezze to prepare the dowsing rod for use to hunt tainted magic and I stood off to the side, out of their way—a useless lump of flesh. I’d have preferred having a job—something that involved pain and death. That was when my skillset came in handy.
They wrapped the dowsing rod in chains of flowers, sprinkli
ngs of herbs, whispered words of power, and finally a light mist of pure spring water from Papa Finn. Between my father’s innate abilities, the rod, and the addition of magic, we hoped to be able to find the magical taint.
When the rod absorbed the last droplets of water, my father took a deep breath and released it slowly, his attention firmly on the device. He carefully reached for the two ends of the Y, pointing the other end away from his body. The length of aged hazel wood pulsed ever so slightly with a pure white light.
“Now,” Papa Finn looked to me, determination in his eyes. “Let’s see if there’s anything in this house that isn’t pure.”
3
The rod swinging around to point directly at me was not amusing. “Ha. Ha.” I crossed my arms and glared at him. “Hilarious.”
“I didn’t do that on purpose.” He shrugged. “It’s just how the magic works.”
“Well,” I grumbled. “As long as it’s pointing at me because I’m the Princess of Hell and not because of On High’s definition of ‘impure.’” I hadn’t been “On High” pure for a long time. I mean, I’m six hundred years old. A girl’s gonna go around the block a few times after that long. And there’s definitely no shame in this immortal girl’s game.
Papa Finn closed his eyes and the rod pulsed with a flash of pale light. “There. It’ll ignore you for now.”
Then he spun in a slow circle, holding the rod away from his body, waiting for it to react and direct him—us. It became more intense when he faced the back of the house and he carefully moved in that direction. He took one step, then two, then… came up against the rear wall of the kitchen.
“The wallpaper is impure? Really? I mean, it’s a bit old fashioned, but…”
“Young lady!” Momma R didn’t seem to care that I was older than her.
“No.” Papa Finn shook his head. “Beyond the wall.”
I got to the back door first, fingers itching and ready to face whatever was out there in the darkness. My boots thumped heavily on the wooden porch, and that was followed by the sound of the others joining me.
