Wolf's Curse

by Kelley Armstrong

  Eventually, my brain politely informs me that I should probably stop making out with Elijah and escape this damned tunnel. He seems to have the same thought, stopping short, his head jerking up. Then I see the look in his eyes, and my heart drops, a wave of cold washing away everything else.

  He scrambles off me, his eyes wide, and I wish I could say that look is simple concern that he got too hot and heavy. Concern that we’re, you know, trapped in a tunnel. No, that “Oh, shit” look is the worst kind. It says he hadn’t meant to kiss me at all, and now that he has, he’s kinda freaking out.

  Ah, Elijah. I suppose I should be furious. I should demand answers. I should demand to know what game you’re playing.

  The problem is that I look at him, in the wavering half-light, and I don’t see a game. He’s genuinely kicking himself for a mistake, his head bent forward, locs dangling, hand over his mouth.

  I could see his four-alarm regret, bordering on horror, and take it personally. While my self-confidence may have been shaken by the double whammy of Brandon and Elijah, I’d have to be delusional to tell myself this was an accidental kiss, caught up in the moment, and he’d have done the same to any girl who’d been here. That is bullshit. He kissed me, and there was zero doubt that he knew it was me.

  So I don’t feel anger. Confusion. Regret. A twinge of hurt, yes, but he doesn’t mean to hurt me, and so I’ll grant him a fair reprieve.

  “You,” I say, shaking my finger as I sit up. “What did we say earlier? There will be no OMG-I-coulda-died life-affirming sex in the tunnel, okay? One, it’s a tunnel. Two, there could be cameras, and my mom would kill you if it got on the internet. Three, every horror movie ever made taught me that this is a recipe for post-coital dismemberment. Four, neither of us has a condom.”

  As I talk, his lips twitch, the panic seeping from his face until I finish, and he laughs. “Uh, pretty sure part three means you won’t need to worry about part four. Also, I won’t need to worry about part two.” He pauses. “Wait, did you say your mom would kill me? Do I dare ask what your dad would do?”

  “Nothing, ’cause he knows no werewolf would be stupid enough to stick a sex tape of me on the internet, and therefore, it must not have been you who did it. By that point, though, Mom would have found you so . . . ?” I shrug. “Talk really fast and hope she believes you didn’t post it?”

  “And then she’ll kill me for having sex with her daughter.”

  “Pfft. What is this? The twentieth century? It’s posting the sex tape that’d be the death sentence.” I pick up the penlight and hand it to him. “May I suggest we find the exit before that witch decides to toy with us some more?”

  He starts to take it, and I see his hands, and my voice softens. “Are you okay?”

  He balls his hands into fists, as if to hide the nails. “I am. She just . . . freaked me out.”

  “That was the point. She only let you hear the chop-me-up-for-parts section of an otherwise civil conversation.”

  “Not sure how any civil conversation includes that but . . .”

  “With supernaturals, you get used to it,” I say. “Now, our witch friend promised to play genie and grant my wishes. One was to get you back. The other was to escape. Let’s go see whether she unveiled the exit.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Logan

  “A demon bargain?” I say to Marchocias. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  Her brows lift. “What is this word joking? I do not believe I know it.”

  “It’s the twenty-first century, demon,” Mason says. “Even ten-year-olds know enough not to make deals with demons. Every book, every TV show, every movie with a demon in it? Some idiot makes a deal and ends up inside out.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “Clearly fiction. Do you have any idea how much work it takes to turn someone inside out? And the mess. The best I’ve managed is to get half their insides decorating their outside, and even that is terribly taxing. Also, for the record, do I sound as if I haven’t left the forest in all these years? I use a CEO’s tax-write-off house up on the mountain. A mansion with all the luxuries one could ask for including Netflix and HBO. Pirated signals, of course. Paying for cable TV would violate the demonic code of conduct.”

  “Are demons always this chatty?” Mason asked. “Or are you just really, really lonely . . . having slaughtered everyone who comes to your valley?”

  “I’m personable. That’s not a character flaw even for a demon.”

  “Not a flaw but a feature,” I murmur.

  Mason snorts. “Like the guy on the subway who chats you up while he’s picking your pocket.”

  “Pretty much,” I say. “Marchocias, I don’t need to hear your deal to refuse it.”

  “How rude.”

  “I will ask you to permit us to leave—” I begin.

  She laughs. I’m bluffing here. Not that I’m keen to make any sort of deal, but she’s guarding the exit, and as Kate would say, I’m going to toss this she-wolf a bone.

  But I still straighten and say, in my best imitation of Mom’s Alpha voice, “I understand your predicament. However, allowing us to leave is your best chance to clear this forest. I will go straight to my mother, Alpha of the American Pack and delegate to the supernatural interracial council, and I’ll tell her what happened here. I will advise, very strongly, that the council give up its interest in these woods. Once they realize this is your territory, they will leave you in peace.”

  “Perhaps. But . . . how shall I put this delicately.” She leans toward the hole. “I do not trust you, son of the Alpha. I know your kind as well as I know myself. Your concern is your Pack. Your mother’s concern is your Pack. If you have no vested interest in what happens here, you will not bother yourselves with helping me.”

  I argue, but she’s not wrong. Even after rejoining the supernatural council, we aren’t its most reliable members. Our priority is threats that affect the Pack, which this is not.

  Still, I’m not lying to Marchocias. I would indeed tell my mother, and she would let me take my report to the council. However, after I deliver that report, we would not pursue the matter further.

  “What do you want?” Mason says. “Just spit it out, and stop this bullshit. You said you want everyone out of your forest, and that’s what we’re trying to do, but apparently, that isn’t enough.”

  “There are teenagers in my forest,” Marchocias says.

  “Uh, yeah. You know how to fix that? Let the teenagers leave your forest.”

  “You are the least of my problems. My forest is infested with others of your ilk, stumbling about as if they’ve just survived their first college bender.” She fixes a look on Mason. “Is that ‘modern’ enough for you?”

  “Fine,” he says. “So let us go get help for them.”

  “More people to invade my forest? More temptations for my dear wolves? No.”

  Before I can speak, she continues, “Here is what I want. You will return to that camp. You will round up the teenagers, and clear them from my forest and warn others that my wolves are eternally hungry.”

  “Wait. You want us to go back?” Mason says. “Back to the place we just escaped?”

  “I will restrain my wolves while you travel, and once you are there, the camp is warded. Conduct your investigation quickly. Discover what you need to know about what happened. Clear my forest of your kind. And then you will be free. All of you. You have my word on that.”

  When I don’t speak, Mason shoots me a look. I can read it as clearly as if he spoke the words.

  You’re actually considering this? A deal with a demon?

  Yes, I am, and the only reason I’m not jumping at it is that I know all the ways this can go wrong. Mason mentioned fictional representations. I know the reality—book upon book of documented accounts of supernaturals making deals with demons. A deal that goes smoothly hardly provides the same chaos buffet as one that ends with a room of dead bodies, the dealmaker weeping over the corpses of his slaughtered family.<
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  Those books are cautionary tales but also guides, teaching supernaturals how to make a proper bargain, because such a thing is possible. That almost makes it worse. Kate calls it the worst lottery ever. People keep making deals because they’re convinced they’ll be the one to win, not through luck but through their wits. Pure hubris.

  Am I falling prey to exactly that thinking? That I’m better informed than the average supernatural, and therefore, I can do this? Perhaps. But Marchocias’s offer carries the undeniable glitter of truth. She does want us gone. She’s spent an eon keeping this valley to herself, and I don’t doubt she revels in tormenting the occasional trespasser. She will not, however, want the best of the supernatural world descending on her sanctuary. The Cabals have already come, scenting opportunity. What if they realize the sheer wealth of this valley as development land? Surely that’s worth chasing off one demon, who isn’t even a high-ranking lord.

  So I begin to negotiate. To do what every supernatural with a grain of sense does. I sew up the loopholes. I get her promise on every point, and I examine the wording with every bit of future-lawyer know-how I possess.

  “Two more things,” I say, finally.

  She exhales dramatically. “At this rate, we won’t need to worry about the trespassers in my forest. They’ll all die of starvation.”

  “First, my sister. Do you know where she is?”

  The gleam in Marchocias’s eyes makes my stomach twist, but I stand firm as she says, “You’ve lost her?”

  “We became separated.”

  “I have not seen either her or her werewolf friend since I threw them. I do not know where they are. When they do appear, my werewolves and I will not harm them. You have my promise on all that.”

  She speaks the words that bind her to that part of the oath. Not that it’s necessary. Demons don’t lie when it comes to a bargain. They can misdirect, mislead, exploit loopholes, but an outright breaking of an oath would mean no mortal ever bargained with them again. As she said earlier, it’d be trading a lifetime of food for one really good meal.

  “Second, I want your word that we are all protected, even those who stay behind in this cabin.”

  “Wait,” Allan says. “That better not mean you’re leaving us.”

  “We can’t all go running around the forest,” Mason says.

  I nod. “Right. I will handle this alone.”

  “Uh,” Mason says. “No, you will not. The spellcasters can stay here, do their thing and wait for your sister, but I’m going.”

  I look at Marchocias. “Immunity for anyone who stays behind as long as I go investigate.”

  “I will not bother them here. I cannot.”

  “You won’t bother or harm them at all—inside or outside this cabin.”

  “Yes, yes. They will receive all the protections I’ve promised you. Safety now and freedom later.” She pauses. “However, since we are adding stipulations, I have one for you. Or, more specifically, for Circe.”

  Holly gives a start.

  “Yes, you, little witch. Here is my demand.” Marchocias meets Holly’s gaze. “Stop what you are doing. She does not want your help. Leave her alone.”

  “I don’t know what you—”

  “I will not spill your secrets unless you force my hand. You know exactly what I mean. Leave her be, and do not poke about her things further, and when you leave, you will tell your people that she has left this forest.”

  “We’re only trying to—”

  “Do you see the form I possess? This body belongs to a woman who comes to this forest to ‘help,’ like you. She searches for poachers and illegal hunters. But the truth is that the creatures here do not need her protection. They have mine as does the one you seek. She has made her position clear, and you will respect it. Is that understood?”

  Holly ducks my gaze, nods and mumbles, “Understood and accepted.”

  I peer at Holly, but there aren’t any answers forthcoming, not while Marchocias stands watch.

  I turn back to the demon. “Then we are agreed—”

  “Not so fast, Danvers,” Mason says. “Are you speaking for all of us? Or are we allowed to seal up the loopholes we see.”

  My cheeks heat. “Yes, of course. Sorry. I should have asked.”

  Marchocias sighs. “There are no loopholes.”

  I glance at Allan, who shrugs, telling me he doesn’t see any. Holly still isn’t meeting my gaze, lost in her thoughts.

  “I have one,” Mason says. “You said we’re safe from you and your hounds. But what else is out there?”

  “Nothing except me.”

  “Yeah, no. Something temporarily killed me out there yesterday, and it wasn’t you.”

  I inwardly wince. I had indeed missed this. Something attacked Mason, and he died, and I resuscitated him. It might seem that was obviously the demon or her hounds. Yet he wasn’t ripped apart. He wasn’t thrown through the air. He was attacked in one place, reappearing in another with no wounds. Just a bloodied nose and a heart that had stopped beating.

  “Answer his question,” I say. “What else is out there?”

  “What happened to Edward was my doing . . . indirectly.” She eases back from the window. “I have been here a very long time. That is not the usual way with demons as I’m sure you are aware. That leads to”—she purses her lips—“shall we say . . . rips in the demonic ozone.”

  “Rips in what?” Mason says.

  “Dimensional tears,” Holly says.

  We all turn to look at her.

  “Oh, there’s Circe, speaking up at last. Don’t let the boys do the talking for you.”

  Marchocias’s gaze cuts Allan’s way. “Do not stiffen like that, Iphis. I wasn’t going to make any sarcastic aside. Your choice is your choice. You pick that form as I pick . . .” She looks down at herself. “Well, not this one in particular, but I’m called the she-wolf for a reason. Other demons style themselves as male, walking your world, fathering children at every step. I choose a different path, and I have children of my own.” She nods at me. “After a fashion.”

  “What the hell is she . . . ?” Mason’s gaze shoots to Allan. A pause and then, “Huh.”

  I brace, ready to jump in if he says something offensive, but he only grunts a “Whatever,” and turns back to Marchocias. “You’re avoiding the question, demon.”

  “Actually, I don’t think she is,” Holly says. “She prefers our world, but she must return to her own periodically. By continuing to cross in the same place for centuries, she’s worn a path between the worlds. You stumbled through it.”

  “Stumbled through and were promptly spat back out,” Marchocias says. “The shock of it stopped your heart. Before you accuse me of trickery, I was going to tell you how to avoid that weak spot. You can see it easily enough . . . if you aren’t striding through the forest, determined to make a grand exit, blind to your surroundings.”

  She gives her vow that this is what happened to Mason and that she will tell us how to avoid it. She also promises that this is not what happened to Kate and Elijah—the spot is north of camp, far from us.

  “There,” she says. “Are you finally ready to make a deal, Romulus?”

  I glance at the others. Allan and Holly nod. Mason’s face darkens—he isn’t happy—but after a second, he nods curtly.

  “We are agreed, then,” Marchocias says. “Now, let us get you back to your camp, so you may set this right.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kate

  We find the back door, and nothing exciting—or terrifying—happens along the way. We crawl a little farther in the only direction we can go, and before long, we see sunlight. The tunnel ends at a rope ladder. Up we go, stepping out of a hole in the ground and then collapsing on a moss-covered rock a few feet away. It’s the perfect spot to rest, a stone slab at least eight feet across, the soft moss smelling of freedom. Late afternoon sunbeams pierce the canopy and shimmer over us as I lie on my stomach, arms folded under my chin. Elijah rests
on his back at my side, close enough that our elbows touch.

  “Guess I can turn this off.” Elijah lifts the flashlight. “We might need a strong sword and a magical ring, though, to battle through this alternate dimension.”

  I cock a brow at him.

  He waves around. “It’s not even twilight yet. Clearly, an alternate dimension because there is no way in hell this all happened in a couple of hours.”

  “It didn’t,” I say, peering at my watch. “It happened in eighty minutes.”

  He groans. “I’m going to take a nap, okay? Just wake me when the cavalry arrives to rescue us.”

  “Or the hell hounds arrive to devour us?”

  A glare my way. “You had to bring that up, didn’t you? At least you didn’t mention the demon. Or the crazed half-demon campers who want to set us on fire.”

  “Also bears. Pretty sure I smell bears.”

  Another groan as he levers up. “This is so unfair. We’re teenagers. We’re not supposed to do this shit on our own. When my mom finds out, I’m grounded for months.”

  “Yeah? When my mom finds out, I’m grounded for life. Or microchipped. Yep, I’m definitely going to be microchipped.”

  “My mom knows how to do that, you know.”

  I jab him in the ribs. “And if anyone mentions that around my mother, I will kill him.” I push to my feet. “Okay, let’s find the camp. First, we should probably cover the hole . . .”

  I look to the area where we came up. It’s long grass, swaying in a light breeze. I walk over and brush through it to find no trace of the hole we exited.

  “Huh,” I say.

  “Yep, weird shit and more weird shit. There’s no gaping hole to fall in, though, so I say we start walking back to the cabin.”

  “Agreed.”

  Shortly after heading out, we realize that we don’t actually know how to find the cabin. Which is a slight obstacle to our escape plan.