Wolves and Roses

by Christina Bauer

  Her glowing face turns to me. She’s so beautiful it knocks the breath from my lungs. “No, no magic at all.”

  I step closer. This girl. “That’s good. The Denarii won’t want anything to do with you.”

  She frowns. “What do you mean? The Denarii League is one of the only places that actually tries to help me.”

  “What do they do for you, exactly?” My claws come out on instinct and press into my palms. The Denarii are sneaky as hell. They run all sorts of pretend charities that really screen for members of the Magicorum. If they think you have real power, then you wind up missing or dead. I shake my head. Humans wonder why magic is missing from the world. The Denarii are the reason why, only they’re too good at hiding their tracks.

  “They run my Magicorum Teen Therapy Group,” says Bryar Rose. “If I ever want to attend a real high school, then I need to deal with them.”

  “Wait a second.” I ball my hands tighter until my claws break through my skin. The coppery tang of blood fills the air. “That brochure you had. Who gave it to you?”

  “Madame Grimoire. She leads my Magicorum Teen Therapy Group. We always meet at the Midtown Denarii League.”

  “You get near the Denarii?” I absently rub the scar along my jawline. I got this fighting a Denarii in Brooklyn. They may be able to hide their true nature from the world, but I hunt them down all the time. Except for their leader, Jules. That guy has been hard to track. “Promise me something.”

  “What?” she asks.

  “You’ll never go near them again.”

  “Trust me, none of us want to be in that group.”

  Alec actually stops smiling for once. “You said ‘us.’ Is your friend in that group, too?”

  “Elle? Sure.”

  My eyes widen. “That brochure talked about Magicorum teens going missing.”

  “Yes.” Bryar Rose nods. “It’s very strange. Madame gave out that brochure once before. Afterwards, one of the girls in our group went missing.”

  “Blanche.” I’d heard about that.

  “Yes. She’s the one.”

  “Does Elle have any magic?” asks Alec.

  “I’m almost certain of it. The way she cons people?” Bryar Rose sighs. “It’s not of this world.”

  Alec races closer to Bryar Rose. He reaches out to grasp her shoulders, but his hands slide through her gemstone body.

  “Watch out,” I warn. “You’ll break the spell early.” Alec is a high-level wizard. He should know better. But when it comes to Elle, it seems like the guy is a little off his game.

  Glad to know I’m not the only one. My inner wolf is howling up a storm. He never wanted to let Bryar Rose out of our sight.

  Alec heaves in rough breaths. “Where’s Elle right now?”

  Bryar Rose’s gemstone eyes flare brighter. “I’m not telling you that.”

  “If she has magic, then she might be in danger.” Alec rummages in his pocket for more gemstones, ignites them, and then pours more stone power into the spell. Deep circles of fatigue appear under his eyes. All this casting is pulling on his life force. “Where is she? Where is Elle?”

  A dreamy look takes over the magical version of Bryar Rose’s face. “Elle has a place in the Village. That’s all I’ll say.”

  “Please,” begs Alec. “I won’t hurt her.” I’ve never seen my friend so worried. But if Elle has magic, he’s got reason to be out of his mind. We’ve known for years what the Denarii really are: a bunch of extremists out to destroy magic.

  The gemstone version of Bryar Rose shakes her head. “Fine. She lives on Seventh Avenue between Perry and Charles. It’s a brownstone called the Barrow Arms. You can’t miss it. Apartment 6D.”

  Alec turns toward the door. “I’m out of here.”

  “Wait, Alec. Bryar Rose could be in danger, too.”

  “You know the drill,” says Alec. “The Denarii only set up stuff like that therapy group so they can screen potential Magicorum for power. If anyone proves to have magic, then they kill them. Bryar Rose has no magic. No one is after her. It’s Elle that they want.”

  My voice lowers to a growl. “Call it a protective instinct. You’re not going anywhere until I find out where Bryar Rose is.”

  Alec rakes his hand through his hair. “Fine.” He glares at the gemstone version of Bryar Rose. “Where are you?”

  “I’m heading to Elle’s cabin in the Adirondacks. It’s at Six Old South Road, right at the foot of Mount Marcy.”

  “Got what you need now?” asks Alec.

  “Yup. And you’re loaning me your Mustang.”

  “Take whatever car you want from the garage. I’m getting a driver to the Village anyway.” He pauses. “You sure you can find her?”

  “I’m a werewolf, and she’s heading to the mountains. Once I get out of the city, she’s all mine.” And the way my wolf is howling inside me, I mean that in more ways than one.

  Chapter Five

  Bryar Rose

  I steer my Land Rover up the dirt path that leads to Elle’s cabin. The night sky sparkles with a crazy number of stars. Pine trees loom on either side of the road. I drive past the Thornhill Arms, a deserted hotel that sits high atop a forested hill. I can’t help but grin. Seeing that old wreck of a hotel means that my drive is almost over. Elle’s cabin is only two minutes away now. I glance at my smart watch.

  2:13 a.m.

  I didn’t make bad time, all things considered.

  A ratty log cabin appears through the trees. My headlights reflect off the darkened windows. It’s a three-room deal with a fireplace and an outhouse, but it stores my computer setup well enough.

  When it comes to analyzing my papyri data, no place is better than Elle’s cabin.

  I pull the Rover up to the cabin, grab my bag, and step outside. This moment is one I always savor—that first rush of fresh air. It stings my lungs with its purity and reminds me of all my plans for the future. A typical high school. Regular college. A normal life.

  But until then, I have my papyri to focus on. I hoist my bag higher on my shoulder and trek up the short flight of stairs to the cabin’s front door. This far out in the wilderness, a lot of cabins aren’t locked. That said, a lot of cabins aren’t owned by a thief, so Elle’s place comes complete with a full set of keys and deadbolts. It takes me a minute or two, but I’m soon inside.

  The cabin is a rustic-looking place with a small bedroom, smaller kitchen, and sizable living room. Most of the furniture is shabby stuff that Elle and I picked up at garage sales in the village. The bedroom roof leaks, and all the walls are filled with mice. The place is a total dump.

  That is, except for the living room. That’s completely high tech. I have stainless steel tables in here and a half-dozen wall monitors. My heart lightens. I can’t wait to get to work.

  Now that I’m inside, I have a system for how I set things up. Generator first. Fireplace second. Third, I make a humungous pot of tea and change into my fave jammies, which are a combination of boyshorts and a cami. Only then, when all the prep work is done, do I fire up my computer, flip on my wall of monitors, and check out my latest ill-gotten papyri pics.

  All of which brings me to the present moment. Right now, I’m sitting in my favorite rolling chair, sipping my tea, and waiting for my latest hieroglyphs to appear on the computer screens before me. The monitors flicker with blue light before—YES—there they are. New hieroglyphs.

  I can’t believe it. These are the best ones I’ve ever gotten.

  Like always, they’re only fragments. At one time, they were full papyrus sheets, and together, they made up the ancient Book of Magic. There were about five copies of this book, and they were all stored in the Library of Alexandria. But when Julius Caesar invaded, he burned the library to charcoal. If the papyri hadn’t been infused with magic themselves, they would never have survived. But they did.

  Now, I’m rebuilding the Book of Magic, piece by burned-up piece. It’s even trickier because it’s written in a special kind of hie
roglyphics called the Code of Isis. Only a few high-level priests and priestesses could read it. Carving any of it into rock was forbidden. I find burned-out fragments and put them together like a giant jigsaw puzzle. As hobbies go, I’ve heard of worse ways to spend your time. Not that I had much choice about the whole thing. I kept dreaming about assembling one hieroglyph in the Book of Magic, over and over. It was so boring I thought I’d go insane. Once I started doing my research, the dreams finally went away, only to get replaced with dreams of Knox. We laugh, talk all night, and work on papyri. I can’t remember much of what happens in the morning, but I do know this: it’s anything but boring.

  I click through pic after pic. Finally, I run across some glyphs that are definitely from the Code of Isis. Hieroglyphs are pictograms, so every word is represented by an image. The Code of Isis uses totally unique images—nothing you’d find elsewhere in ancient Egypt. I run across a fragment with the unique hieroglyphs for “wizard,” “fairy,” and “shifter.”

  Bingo. I found another puzzle piece. Now I just need to figure out where it fits.

  I gulp down my tea and get to work. This is where the fun begins: finding the right home for each new fragment in my master copy of the Book of Magic. Back in ancient times, about twenty scrolls made up this particular book. Each one was about five feet long when unrolled. To see each page fully and still be able to read it, I must span all four of my computer monitors.

  With a few button clicks, the first scroll-page appears on my screen. I drag the new hieroglyphs onto different parts of the image, trying to find where these three pictograms fit into my master puzzle. Normally, this task consumes all my focus, but tonight? I can’t seem to stay on track. My attention keeps wandering to another image entirely.

  Silky black hair.

  That scar along his jawline.

  The haunting look in his ice-blue eyes.

  Knox.

  And that scent. Sandalwood and musk. Why is the very thought of it hypnotizing?

  I press my palms onto my eyes. Forget growly men. Tonight is about the Book of Magic. It’s taken me years, but I’ve got one quarter of the thing put together. Sure, it’s a compulsion to complete the task I saw in my dreams, but that doesn’t mean I’m not proud of what I’ve done. And there’s no way I’ll stop now.

  A mechanical buzz fills the air. My monitors flicker and turn dark. The only light in my cabin comes from the fireplace in the living room. The sound of my own breathing seems incredibly loud.

  I freeze. This is so weird. The generator sometimes dies in the winter, but never in May. I pull open my bag and take a deep breath of meds from my inhaler. It never hurts to do a preemptive strike against a possible episode. After that, I open the top drawer of my desk, where I keep my favorite gun—a seven-millimeter Glock—and its leather shoulder holster. Miss Chang is more than an expert in mixed martial arts. She also taught me about guns. After slipping on my Glock and holster, I head outside to check the generator.

  What can I say? I’m a cautious girl.

  The moment I step outside, I’m hit with cool air and a cacophony of insect noises. I stare back at the cabin door. It’s wide open. Crap, I forgot to grab the keys as well. Maybe I should go back inside and hunt for them.

  I debate the idea for all of two seconds before giving up. Fiddling with locks in the dark isn’t my idea of a good time. I need to get the generator back up and working. Besides, I won’t be gone long.

  I pad barefoot over to the hefty metal box that sits around back of the cabin. It’s hard to find my way, but there’s a little light from the moon. I stub my toe on a rock.

  Too bad I thought of a gun before a flashlight.

  I make it to the generator, and sure enough, one of the extension cables fell out. Usually ice weighs these things down in the winter, but I suppose a raccoon or something might get to it at this time of year. I plug the line back into place. Brightness flickers inside the cabin once more.

  I hug my elbows—and not just from the cold. The idea of having lost everything I was working on sends a chill through my bones.

  When did I last save my file? I can’t remember.

  Crap, if I lose my work, I’m going to freak. When you have files as big as mine, autosave can take a while to finish. If you lose power mid-save, it can corrupt everything.

  Damn.

  I rush into the cabin and hustle over to my mega-desk of computer gadgetry. After pressing a few buttons, the monitors come back to life. I scan them carefully and exhale. Whew. I lost a few little things, but not too much. In fact, I’m about to redo the work when I feel it.

  The cool muzzle of a gun against the back of my head.

  What. The. Hell.

  “Hands up, Cherie.”

  Oh, no. It’s Madame Grimoire. And she’s holding a gun to my skull.

  Lessons from Miss Chang race through my mind. Unfortunately, I don’t have a good way to disarm Madame from this angle. I need to buy some time. It’s an effort to keep my voice casual. “What are you doing here?”

  In reply, there’s the unmistakable sound of her cocking the gun. Miss Chang taught me all about that stuff, too. A jolt of worry zings through my limbs. Blanche disappeared, and now Madame is in my secret cabin with a gun. Not a great situation.

  I raise my arms. “Fine. My hands are up.”

  Madame’s arm darts around me. In a flash of movement, she pulls my gun out of its shoulder holster.

  Great. My weapon is history.

  “Turn around,” she orders.

  With shuffling steps, I slowly spin about. Madame still looks like she did in our group session today. Her brown hair is frozen into a perfectly curled bob. Her A-line dress is without a crease. She’s even wearing her white gloves, although now they make a little more sense. If she’s been shooting people, the gloves might help to hide any evidence on her skin. Which is not a comforting thought, really.

  Madame raises her free hand. My burner phone is gripped in her fingers. She tightens her grip, and the device gets smashed to bits. That’s a shocker. I mean, it’s already overwhelming that she found me and broke in here. But that’s a pretty solid object. Who goes around smooshing things with their bare hands?

  “Who are you, really?” I ask. “What do you want?”

  Madame smiles, and it’s not the nice kind. “Answer some questions, and I’ll kill you quickly.”

  I glance around the room, searching for any kind of weapon.

  “Don’t bother trying to escape,” says Madame. “You made the mistake of warning me about all your battle training. That’s why I sabotaged your generator; I knew you were experienced and would require a sneak attack. When I kidnapped Blanche, I merely knocked on the door and asked her to let me in.”

  Every inch of my body seems to go numb. Wow. Madame really is planning to kill me. Not that the loaded gun wasn’t a tipoff. But the fact that she confessed to going after Blanche? Not a great sign for yours truly.

  Madame keeps right on talking. I guess she wasn’t expecting any response about the whole kidnapping Blanche thing. “Let’s begin. How long have you been in love with Philpot?”

  “What?” Of all the questions she was going to ask, I did not see that one coming. “I am not in love with Philpot at all. He’s a loser.”

  “No, he’s wonderful.” Madame motions to the monitors with her gun. “You’ve been trying to impress him with this research, haven’t you? Show him that you’re more than a pretty face, am I right?”

  “Philpot doesn’t know anything about my work here.”

  “Liar. Someone like you doesn’t deserve to live. Besides, you look delicious.”

  “Delicious?” The word tumbles from my mouth before I can stop it.

  Madame stares at the monitors, her eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here?”

  A plan forms. If Madame is curious about the papyri, I might be able to use that to my advantage. “I’m translating the Book of Magic.” She seems really fixated on my work, so maybe that’ll
be somewhat interesting to her.

  “No, that’s not possible. The Denarii have been trying to reassemble that text for ages without success.”

  My mind races through the few things I’ve learned from the Book of Magic. “I know about the three wardens and the fountain.”

  Her eyes widen. “You know who the wardens are?”

  “Sure.” In truth, I have no idea who they are. It’s a closely guarded secret.

  “And where the fountain is, too?”

  “Absolutely.” Another whopper of a lie. “It’s all right here on my monitor screen. Come take a look.”

  And get close enough so I can disarm you.

  Madame takes a half step nearer. That’s an improvement, but it’s not close enough for me to take her gun. “What does it say about the fountain?”

  I point to the monitor right behind me. “The location is clearly written out. Do you know any hieroglyphs?”

  “A few.” Madame squints, trying to see that corner more clearly. “Do you have any idea what would happen if someone found that fountain?” She takes another half step closer.

  My heart pounds so hard, it feels like it could burst through my chest. Only one more step, and Madame will be close enough for me to disarm her. “The glyph for the fountain is four wavy lines in a circle. You can see it here, in the bottom left corner.” Which is the truth. The glyph is in that corner. But it’s also true that she’ll need to step closer than ever to see it properly.

  “Four wavy lines in a circle…ah, I see it now.” Madame’s gaze stays locked on the monitor as she finally takes another step.

  Gotcha.

  My training from Miss Chang comes back with a vengeance. I step to one side, grab the muzzle of the gun, and twist hard. A snap of bone sounds as Madame’s finger breaks. From there, I grab Madame’s arm and flip her onto her back. A few moves later, and I have both guns again and Madame at my mercy. Triumph flares through my soul. I can’t wait to tell Elle about this one.

  I reset one gun into my holster. Using both hands, I point the other straight at Madame’s head. “Now it’s your turn to talk. Who are you, really?”

  “Why, I’m one of the Denarii, of course.”