I don’t catch the rest. I’m already gone, racing to my sister.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Kate
Once Tricia and Holly are gone, Allan paces to the other side of the room. Then he stops at the window, looking out. I settle onto the edge of the bed.
“So,” he says. “I’m about to tell you something that you absolutely do not need to know at this moment. Something that has zero bearing on anything that’s happening, and I’m bringing it up for a purely selfish reason—because the others know, and I don’t want you to hear it second-hand.”
“Okay.”
“It’s something you probably should have known when we first met. Something I honestly thought you found out, and that was why you broke up with me.”
“Er, okay. You certainly know how to build to a story.”
“When I was . . .” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “This is never easy, and the more I talk to people about how to do this, the more advice I get. Say this. No, don’t say that. Don’t say anything.”
“Allan . . .”
“That wasn’t always my name. There used to be an A on the end.”
“Allan . . . ? Ah.”
“Exactly,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking.
“Huh. Okay, So now I—shit. You thought I broke up with you because of that?”
“I didn’t blame you. We were kids, and I had no idea how to navigate the situation, whether I was supposed to say anything or not. I really liked you, and it was . . .” He shrugs. “I grew up in a Cabal, surrounded by kids who’d known me since I was in diapers. That summer with you and Logan was the first time I’d been around kids who only knew me as Allan. You saw a guy—one you liked—and I couldn’t bring myself to spoil that.”
“But you thought I found out and dumped you for it.”
“I wouldn’t have blamed you.”
“I’d have blamed me.” I get to my feet. “No, I didn’t know. Anyone who did realized it was your story, and you were under zero obligation to share it. You are always under zero obligation to share it.”
I hug him. “I always felt like a bitch for ending it that way. I liked you. I really did. But I was thirteen, and you lived across the country, and I wasn’t sure how to handle that, so I handled it badly.”
He returns the hug before we separate. “I came on too strong. I really liked you, and it was . . .” He shrugs. “Intoxicating. Meeting a girl who only knew me as Allan, only saw me as a guy.”
“A super-cute, super-sweet guy. And a damn good kisser.”
He chuckles and blushes. “Thank you, Kate.”
“For what? Telling the truth?”
“For being you. Some girls, if they find out, they . . .” He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “It makes them question, you know?”
“Question what? Whether they’re secretly attracted to girls? You presented as a guy. You were—are—a guy, which is what I like.”
He gives me another quick hug. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And whoever spilled your story is an asshole.”
“It was the demon.”
“Ah, well, that explains everything. Now let’s step outside and see if we can spot my brother. He should be here by now.”
Allan and I walk into the hallway.
“Holly?” I call. “Our private conference is done.”
No one answers.
Allan whistles. “Hey, guys! Time to step outside before the big, bad witch comes back.”
Still silence.
I sigh. “Time to search. Again. At least this isn’t a mansion.”
“Mmm, we’ve both seen the illusion magic she’s using. For all we know, we’re actually in a luxury chalet with six bedrooms and a hot tub.”
“I would definitely take a hot tub. Though I’d wonder whether I’m actually submerged in a giant vat of water about to be boiled down to bones.”
“Look at you with the cheery thoughts.”
We step into the living area. It’s empty. From here, I can see through the kitchen, which is also empty.
“Holly!” I shout. “Tricia!”
When they don’t answer, I sigh louder.
“Seems they found the hot tub first,” Allan says. “Let’s just hope we find them before the wicked witch jacks up the heat.”
“Holly!” I shout, and he chimes in, louder still, our voices reverberating through the cabin.
“Okay,” I say. “We were in the room with the hatch, right? So they couldn’t have gone down it.”
“Even if they found a second hatch, Holly wouldn’t try it with only Tricia for backup. They must have stepped outside.”
As he walks to the open window, footsteps sound overhead.
Allan turns, his face lifted to track the sound. “Or they’ve been checking out the mummy.” He makes a face. “Tricia must have insisted on taking a look.”
“And now I guess I am, too. Lead the way.”
At the end of the hall, we find a room that I’d only briefly checked earlier when we’d been hunting for an exit. It had looked like a study, and I’d known better than to start poking around or I might find something that snagged my curiosity.
As we step through, I see I’d been right to ignore it. It’s a lab. Science would stop me even faster than an interesting collection of books.
“Guys?” I call as I approach the rope ladder hanging from the open hatch. “We should probably step outside and wait for Logan.”
No answer.
I put one foot on the ladder. Allan lays a restraining hand on my arm.
“Holly!” he calls. “Tricia!”
“Up here,” Tricia’s distant voice calls back. “I’m trying to see whether we can find anything that will identify this guy. The council will want to investigate.”
Holly responds with something I don’t quite catch.
“Right,” Tricia says. “Can you come up and give us a hand, Kate? We could use your werewolf strength to lift this thing.”
“What thing?” I mutter to Allan. “The mummy?”
“Let’s hope not,” he murmurs and releases his grip on my arm. “Up we go.”
Even before I crest into the attic, the smell hits me. Formaldehyde, strong enough to make my eyes water.
“Wow, that really stinks,” I say.
“That’s my fault,” Tricia says. “I knocked over a jar. Smells better than it did before, though. Despite what I’ve heard, mummification is not an odorless method of body disposal.”
My head pops over the edge, and as my night vision adjusts, I can see her holding her nose and making a face. I have to laugh. “Well, my dad’s a cultural anthropologist, not a physical one, but I read my share of scholarly works on the process back when I had a macabre interest in mummies. If it smells, she didn’t do it right.”
I reach up to climb through, but something stops me. Physically stops me. When Allan bops into me from behind, I wave him back.
“I think I’ve hit a barrier spell on a delay,” I say. “Seems this dark witch isn’t all she’s cracked up to be. No point arming barriers after people are already in her attic.” I pause. “Unless the idea is to trap them in there.”
“I don’t think barriers can be used as traps,” Allan says. “Hey, Holly! Is this spell yours? Yes, I’m not keen to see the mummy again, but I’m a big boy. Let me up.”
I peer into the dim attic. My night vision hasn’t adjusted yet, and all I see is Tricia’s dim outline. She’s headed deeper in, leaving us at the entrance.
“Holly?” I tap on the barrier spell. “We’re kinda stuck here. I—”
The spell snaps. “Thank you!” I call, and I climb the rest of the way.
“No lights, I’m guessing?” I say as I ascend into near darkness.
“There’s a flashlight,” Tricia says. “Which I dropped when I knocked over the jar. Please tell me your werewolf vision can find it before I stumble into another jar of formaldehyde?”
Once I’m up, I blink and
squint. I can make out the mummy just ahead. Elijah said it was seated, and that’s what I see—a pale shape upright in a chair.
“Okay, that’s creepy,” I say. “Was he really mummified while . . . ?”
Two more steps, and then my night vision snaps on, and I blink twice, certain I’m seeing wrong. That seated figure isn’t a mummy. It’s Holly, sitting rigid, with a cloth over her mouth.
“What the—?” I begin.
Tricia appears beside Holly, holding something to her neck. A flashlight clicks on, and the figures come clearly. Holly in a chair, bound to it hand and foot. She’s gagged, and blood trickles from her nose. There’s more blood on her shirt, and one eye is swollen half-shut. Beside her, Tricia sets a penlight on a table while keeping a shard of glass pressed to Holly’s neck.
“Found the flashlight!” Tricia trills. “Also, I may have broken that jar on purpose. I was in need of a weapon.”
Allan’s hand flies up for a spell, but I grab his wrist and shake my head.
“Good idea,” Tricia says. “In fact, just to be safe, why don’t you take a seat on your hands, Allan. From what I’ve overheard, you can’t cast much witch magic, so that should render you pretty much useless.”
Allan rocks forward, jaw tensing, but he catches my eye, and we exchange a look. I want to fight, too, but I’m not doing it with broken glass pressed to Holly’s carotid artery.
Allan starts to lower himself behind me, but Tricia shakes her head and tells him to sit closer to her. She’s not letting him sink into the shadows when he can cast.
As Allan sits, I say, “Tricia? I need you to pay attention to me. Something’s going on in this forest. Something that infects half-demons. Whatever you’re feeling—whatever you’re thinking—you’re not yourself. It’s an infection.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh golly, is it? That’s why I feel all . . . funny.” Her nose wrinkles.
As Tricia talks, Holly shakes her head and cuts her gaze toward Tricia.
“I must be infected,” Tricia says. “I think it’s causing hallucinations, too, like the ones where I imagine I’m actually a trained soldier who can kick your skinny werewolf ass.”
I laugh. I can’t help it even as Holly’s eyes warn me. Then I stop.
Trained soldier?
I follow Holly’s frantic eye motions and then jump as I see a seated figure in the shadows. The actual mummy, pushed aside.
I remember what the witch said. I remember the letter written by the dead man in that mummy.
The witch wasn’t mistaken. Someone had come to kill her. It just wasn’t Holly.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Logan
As we run, I explain the situation to Elijah . . . which only makes him run faster until I’m the one grabbing the back of his shirt to slow him down.
“We can’t race into an unknown situation,” I say. “We might—”
“—make things worse. I know.” He rubs his hands over his face. “Kate can take care of herself, and she’s on alert. Plus, it’s in Tricia’s best interests to keep up the charade until she finds Renée.”
I nod, and we continue on at a jog, Mason running silently behind us. I don’t know where Renée is. She heard the problem, but she didn’t come with us.
I glance at Elijah. I made a mistake here. Misjudged him. He’s a werewolf, and that instinctively put me on guard. Seeing him getting close to Kate didn’t help. I’ve lost the closer-than-siblings connection we once had. I lost a friend. My best friend. Then along comes this other werewolf, and he effortlessly slides into the place that used to be mine, talking and laughing and whispering with my sister.
Instead of being glad she found a friend—while resolving to mend our relationship—I made Elijah my enemy. Decided he had an ulterior motive for getting close to Kate because, hey, what other explanation could there be? It’s not as if my sister is attractive or funny or smart. No, clearly, Elijah had a nefarious objective, and when I realized he was Logan Jonsen’s brother, that seemed to be the answer.
What exactly did I think Elijah planned to do? Kill Kate in revenge for the death of a half brother he never knew?
“I’m sorry,” I say as we run. “I was an asshole to you.”
“Nah. You were watching out for Kate. If I had a sister, I’d be side-eying any guy who came sniffing around.”
He’s trying to make me feel better, but instead, I just feel worse for judging someone who wasn’t judging me in return.
“Also,” he says, voice lowering as we near the cabin. “I hurt her. I . . .” He rolls his shoulders, not glancing my way. “I freaked out. Panicked. I . . .” He draws a sharp breath. “I’ll explain it to her first. But I know I screwed up, so I don’t blame you for being suspicious.”
Elijah stops, and the cabin appears through the trees maybe a hundred feet ahead.
“Should we do a little surveillance?” he whispers. “Scout before we go in? I think I hear voices, but I can’t make them out. Are you okay with me circling around and trying to listen?”
I nod. “I’ll do the same.”
He takes off. I glance back at Mason, who stands in silence, having not uttered a word since we left the witch.
“You heard the plan, right?” I whisper.
He grunts, and I presume that means yes.
“Do you want to stay here or come with me?” I ask.
“Whatever.”
An hour ago, there would have been no question that he’d stick with me. Now, though, I have rejected his advance, so why bother continuing to watch my back?
“My sister is—”
“—in that cabin with a woman she thinks is harmless. A woman who pretended to be a camp counselor and is actually an assassin who might hurt anyone who gets in her way. I understand the situation, Danvers. I’m not sitting this one out. Kate helped me. I’ll help her.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“It’s not for you.”
I nod. “Understood. But . . . are we okay?”
He fake smiles, baring his teeth. “Peachy, pup.”
Damn him. I want to sort this out. I did nothing wrong, but it feels as if I did, and I want to apologize.
I’m sorry I rejected you. I know it was hard to take that chance, and I am sorry. It’s not you. It’s me.
That last part’s a cliché and also untrue. He didn’t give me the chance to explain, ignored me when I tried to.
This is Mason’s situation to resolve, and if he washes his hands of me, then we’re better off that way, or I’d spend our entire relationship chasing after him.
I still feel as if I’ve lost something here. Lost a possibility. But maybe that just makes me like every other person who walks away from a toxic relationship and wonders what they missed out on.
I glance up at Mason, but his gaze has already shifted to the side, jaw set against further conversation.
“Your sister, pup?” he says after a moment.
“Right.” I take a deep breath, push the rest away and start creeping toward the cabin.
Mason doesn’t follow.
I don’t get far before Elijah appears from nowhere, only his scent keeping me from jumping.
“Someone’s coming,” he whispers. “Two people. I can smell them upwind, but I don’t recognize them. Maybe Paige and Savannah?”
He motions for me to follow, and I do. We get around the cabin, and a strong breeze brings two human scents. Neither is familiar.
I’m whispering with Elijah when Mason joins us. I tell him what we smell.
“Trouble,” he rumbles.
Elijah shrugs. “Could be campers. I’m not sure I’d recognize all their scents.”
“Two scents,” Mason says. “You don’t recognize either. Neither does Danvers. Probability they’re from camp? Statistically insignificant. Tricia’s brought friends.”
When I hesitate, he turns on me, a little too sharply, residual anger bubbling to the surface. “You think Tricia’s part of some organization, right? Then she’
s going to call for help when things go to hell.”
Elijah nods. “Fair assumption. We probably have time to route them before they get here. What if you shift, Logan? Get them on the run.”
I want to say there’s no time for that, but it’s a good plan. If these are professionals from some shady supernatural organization, three unarmed teenagers won’t spook them. A wolf might. Keeping them away from the cabin is the priority right now.
I ask Elijah to keep an eye out as I Change, and I don’t fail to notice Mason stiffen at that, but he just tells me to hurry. I do.
I Change as fast as I can, and if I’m a little smug about how fast that is, well, I’ve been working on it for just this reason. The ability to shift forms is an incredible weapon, but it’s not like carrying a gun; you can’t just pull it out when you need it. Even with the two strangers a half-mile out, I need to Change fast to intercept them. And I do.
When I slip out of my thicket, Elijah’s there. I rumble a question, and then I realize, not being Pack, he won’t be accustomed to our wolf communication, but he seems to get it and nods.
“They’re still coming this way. Still a little ways out.” His gaze sweeps over me. “You look like a giant Labrador retriever.”
I growl, and he grins.
“Sorry,” he says, “but true. You’re a big yellow Lab, and Kate is a Golden retriever. Derek? Now he’s scary. Black is the way to go. No one’s afraid of blondes.”
I huff and walk past him as he laughs. Mason’s there, looking the other way. He glances over but doesn’t seem to see me.
“We moving?” Mason says. “Or chitchatting.”
“I am easing the tension,” Elijah says. “Because I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but someone needs a machete to cut it.” He waves to me. “Lead the way. Your backup players will follow.”
I can see the two intruders. Two men. Both at least thirty. One brawny, while the other has a gun holstered at his side. I can’t suppress an offended growl at that gun. Real supernaturals don’t use weapons. And these are definitely supernaturals. The smaller guy holds his glowing fingers in the air to light their way.
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