by RJ Blain
If the Inquisition believed them harmless or tools to be molded. If they were strong enough to be worth the risk.
If Samantha had been killed by the Inquisition, if her death hadn’t been a natural heart attack, how had they found her?
I swallowed. Mark’s mother had plenty of reasons to hate me, even before counting the fact I was a werewolf. My eyes widened. The engagement ring had been made of silver—old silver, passed down through generations. Had they both been testing to see if I was a werewolf? The witch in me had saved me from the black burns of silver poisoning. On any other wolf, the white gloves I’d worn would’ve turned black, as though stained with tarnish.
It would’ve been easy for them, working together, to frame me. Their plan might’ve worked too, if not for my allergy to my own kind.
Would Samantha have lived if I’d been officially charged with murder? I swallowed back my grief.
My phone rang. Neither of the children stirred. “Victoria,” I answered.
“One hour and thirty minutes. Terminal three,” a digitally-masked voice snapped. The line went dead.
I waited long enough to get a brush out of my night bag and brush the kids’ hair, taking the time to braid the girl’s. Not even sleep eased the grief and pain etched into their faces. Shaking my head, I slipped back into the driver’s seat and headed to BWI.
~*~
I arrived at terminal three of BWI with two minutes to spare, carrying a child on each arm. The girl woke enough to fix herself to me like a koala, which let me get a good hold on her brother. While asleep, they gripped onto me tight enough I doubted I’d be able to pry them off without help.
By the time I made it to the waiting area, both of my arms were going numb, and I was aching from the constant weight of the two kids. To make matters worse, I couldn’t help but be a little jealous of them. I wanted to take a nap, too. There was a sickening amount of truth to the phrase ‘No rest for the wicked.’
A flood of people left the terminal, shoving me in their hurry to escape the stifling confines of the airport. Without knowing who I was looking for, I was left standing in a churning mass of people, wincing at each bump of a passerby. The jostling reminded me it hadn’t been that long ago I’d taken two rounds to the chest.
Werewolves healed fast, but it didn’t make me immune to bone-deep bruises.
“Victoria, whatever are you doing? You didn’t leave the children with a babysitter?”
I grimaced at the British accent. Unless my guess was off, I pegged him as local to somewhere south and east of London. I faked a smile. “You know how hard it is to find someone on such short notice.” If he wanted to play the British game, I was up for it. I wondered if, like me, he was trying to guess where my accent was from.
Unless he had a time machine, he’d never know. I might’ve left Britain not quite two hundred years ago, but the accent was tenacious. Maybe my wolf had somehow preserved it, because it refused to go away.
The speaker proved to be tall, dark, and handsome with a great smile. His youth made me wonder if could legally drink in the US or Canada.
“Let me take him,” he said, reaching out for the boy.
To my surprise, the older of the two children cracked open an eye, took one look at my British companion, made a growling noise, and clung to my neck.
“Or not. A mother’s boy, I see.”
I winced, shaking my head. “Morte,” I hissed, hoping he understood at least that much of French.
A frown marred the man’s face. “When?”
“A few days ago.” Sighing wouldn’t change the past, or my inability to figure out where the Inquisition was going to strike next. I wasn’t sure how much I could trust Donnie’s assistant. There were many talented and skilled younglings in the world, and if Donnie said this one was as good as he had been in his prime, I should’ve been content with that.
But, the Inquisition wasn’t the normal type of enemy. Any one of the people milling about could belong to the organization, just waiting for me to slip up and reveal I was witch and wolf.
“You have a car here?”
Not trusting my voice, I nodded.
“I’ve only one case. Let’s go.”
We cleared out of BWI in record time. Neither one of the kids woke up, not even when I needed my new friend’s help getting them back into my Mustang. Rolling my aching shoulders and stretching out my arms, I glanced over the hood of the car at Donnie’s assistant. “What are Donnie’s terms?”
The Brit’s dark eyes narrowed as he considered me. “You jump straight to the chase. Good. Get in, and we’ll talk.”
I matched his expression, watching him for even the slightest change of expression. Drawing a deep breath didn’t help me gage his mood since the fumes of jet fuel and exhaust clogged my nose. With a shrug, I slipped into the driver’s seat, buckled up, and started the car.
It took twenty minutes to get free of the traffic around the airport and get back on the interstate. Neither of us spoke. I rolled down the window to clear the stench out of the interior of the car.
“Well? Start talking. What’re Donnie’s terms?”
“Donnie told me you’re aware of the Inquisition.”
Chills ran through me. It’d been in the code when we’d spoken that the Inquisition was likely aware of my existence and I suspected they were behind Samantha’s death. I still didn’t know how they’d found her—found us—but they had.
I also didn’t know if they were aware of the fact that I was a witch or a wolf. “Yes, I’m aware.”
“Donnie trusts you a lot, then.”
I shrugged, ignoring the prickle of his stare on me, weaving my Mustang through traffic. Braving I-95 in the morning didn’t seem wise, so I decided to head southbound via a more obscure route. Maybe the back roads through the mountains and forests would do me some good. At the very least, it’d please my wolf. “We’re friends.”
“It’s not like him to make friends with such a young lady.”
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, once again using my favorite ploy of adjusting the rear view mirror. The corners of his mouth were turned upwards in a smirk. “He usually doesn’t have any use for kids, so you must be really something special if he trusts you with this sort of work.”
The Brit sucked in a breath. “Well played.”
“If we’re done posturing, what are Donnie’s terms and why did he send you to me? While I’m glad he delegated, his choice of alternates is… interesting.”
The thinly-veiled insult didn’t go by unnoticed, but to his credit, he didn’t do more than grimace before forcing a more neutral expression. “You have a sharp tongue, Ms. Hanover.”
“Vicky.”
“There’s some interesting news on the wire, Vicky. A young woman, one Allison Ferdinan, was murdered in Detroit after fleeing New York. An SUV’s mangled husk was pulled out of Lake Erie last night, so damaged that they’re saying the bodies were likely so torn up the fish probably ate what hadn’t been incinerated.” He leaned back, linking his fingers behind his head. “The footage captured was quite brutal. Two women shot down in a soured deal, from the looks of it. I don’t suppose you know anything about that, do you?”
I made a non-committal noise.
“It was a nice piece of work, I’ll give you that. You showed just enough of your face to get a positive ID. The gunman firing out the cameras was a stroke of genius.”
I kept my eyes on the road, careful not to grin at the praise of my handiwork. The hardest role had been Donnie’s, but as always, when it came to his explosives and gun work, he was the best. “Donnie’s good, what can I say?”
“Donnie?” I heard the surprise in his voice.
“I promise you I didn’t shoot myself, good sir. If you’re his alternate, you know how good of a shot he is. I couldn’t have made those hits. Of course Donnie was the shooter. You’ve got much to learn, if you’re going to survive in his business.”
“Why that old rascal,”
the Brit murmured.
“For a Brit, you sound pretty American.”
He laughed. “I’ve been here a while. You sound pretty American, too.”
“I’ve been here a while,” I echoed. The itching feeling in my face intensified. I drew a deep breath. The scent of wolf had strengthened. Tilting back the rear view mirror, I stared at the kids for a moment. Both were still asleep. Why had the scent of wolf grown stronger? In sleep, their wolf heritage should’ve been at its weakest.
Cursing my allergies, I tried to take a deep breath, focusing on the strongest of the scents. My nose identified the wolf as male, but I couldn’t figure out anything more. I readjusted the mirror.
“Donnie sent me because there was a bounty on your friend’s head of ten million dollars, issued on Halloween and claimed last night. My condolences, ma’am.” There was genuine regret in the man’s voice, which took me a bit by surprise. “There was also a bounty for Allison Ferdinan, but it has been since stricken from the dockets, likely as a result of your murder.”
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. We both had a bounty? After the affair with Mark’s Wicked Witch of the West mother, it didn’t really surprise me that she’d pulled strings to get a bounty on me to make certain I disappeared. Killing Caroline hadn’t bothered the old woman at all, so I doubted she would’ve thought twice about disposing of me. But why Samantha? Why had the bounty been issued on Halloween?
The night of the ball, where I had been a naive, foolish, and stupid Cinderella, was still too fresh in my memories. Anguish tightened my throat at the memory.
I had told Mrs. Livingston Samantha’s first name.
“If I hadn’t seen you in the airport, and if Donnie hadn’t slipped out the fact you were an old friend, I never would’ve believed that the woman killed in the video was the same as the one driving this car,” the Brit admitted. “You’re a witch, aren’t you? That’s why they have bounty on you, isn’t it?”
My cheek twitched. “Donnie didn’t tell you?” The old veteran’s discretion pleased both me and my wolf. I could feel that wild part of me rouse, but she withdrew without my forcing her too, as though sensing something I couldn’t. “A low-grade witch and nothing more,” I acknowledged.
“You were worth five million to the Inquisition.”
“As I said, low-grade at best.” Five million was cheap change for the Inquisition. A wizard’s death could pull a hundred million from a government contract to avoid military problems. I narrowed my eyes and drew another deep breath. I meant to catch the scent of the wolf again, but all I got for my efforts was a sneeze. “Get me two pills from the bottle in the glove box,” I ordered.
He obeyed, offering me the medication in the palm of his hand. I swallowed them back.
“What’re they for?” he asked.
“Allergies.”
“Ah. To what?”
“Dogs. I’m sure half of the people at the bloody airport are dog owners and they don’t bother cleaning the bloody fur off their clothes.”
The Brit recoiled as though I’d stabbed him in the gut. I pretended I didn’t notice, instead taking a more delicate sniff of the air. My nose hadn’t lied. I did smell male wolf, and it wasn’t the pup in the backseat.
I wanted to slap myself for being so dense, stupid, and slow.
Donnie’s choice in alternate made a lot more sense. While I doubted the Brit could smell my wolf, I’d need to be really careful. My control was good, but with two wolf-descendants and a full wolf in the car with me, the chances of getting caught grew with each passing minute.
I wondered how much Mr. Bond was going to laugh at me when he discovered I was allergic to my own kind.
“Does being near a witch bother you?” I asked, covertly watching him out of the corner of my eye as I drove along the twisting, turning country roads. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“James.”
I choked on my laughter. I couldn’t resist the joke at his expense. “I’ll hazard a guess that isn’t your real name, is it, Mr. Bond?”
A boyish grin answered me. “You would be correct, ma’am.”
“Very well. What’s a werewolf like you doing with a nice man like Donnie?”
The only thing betraying his surprise was the slight widening of his eyes. “What makes you think I’m a werewolf?”
“There’s me, two kids, and you in this car, and my allergies aren’t going away.” Without taking my eyes off the road, I smiled. “I’m allergic, remember?”
“To werewolves.”
“Wolves are dogs. I told you, I’m allergic. Donnie has a way of attracting interesting people.”
“You would be a very dangerous tool if the Inquisition got a hold of you, Ms. Hanover.”
I sniffled. “I don’t intend on letting the Inquisition get a hold of me. So, what do we do?”
“We do nothing. Donnie wants me to keep an eye on you and make sure you stay out of the Inquisition’s hands. You just worry about yourself and those two kids. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“What do I owe you?”
“What do you mean? This is on the house. Donnie did have a message for you, though.”
I waited in silence, arching a brow.
James cleared his throat. “He says to give them hell, and if you decide to dance naked on their graves, he wants pictures.”
I would dance, but there wouldn’t be anyone left to take the pictures, if I had my way.
Chapter Fifteen
It didn’t take us long to run out of things to talk about. I suspected it was for the best. James settled into his seat, staring out the window at the trees as they whipped by. My Mustang was old, but I risked taking it up into the mountains anyway. The height and the way the rock reached for the open sky didn’t quite tame my wolf, but it did keep James glued to his window.
To my relief, both of the children slept the entire way back to my new house in Buckhead. Tossing James the keys, I twisted around to stare at the slumbering beasts in the back. I couldn’t smell the wolf on them until I was close, but that’d end as soon as they woke up. Unless they had undergone the change, they’d never be able to control their scent.
I sighed, got out of the car, and started with the girl. Her hazel eyes blinked open, focusing on me. Furrows creased between her brows.
Before I could say anything at all, she asked, “Are you a kidnapper?”
At least she was calm. I wondered what I’d gotten myself into this time. My throat tightened. If Samantha was around, she would’ve told me what to do, how to settle two displaced kids in a house I was still learning my way around. But Samantha was gone, forever out of my reach, and it’d been all my fault.
“My name is Vicky,” I choked out, clearing my throat in order to sound a little closer to normal. I crouched next to the opened back door of my Mustang. James headed into the house, leaving me to deal with the two children in the backseat. “I like to think I rescued you.”
Samantha had liked making weird faces to the kids she had pretended were hers, so I followed her example, wrinkling my nose and sticking out my tongue. The girl giggled.
“What’s your name?”
The girl continued to stare at me, weighing and judging me in the way only a child could. “I’m Emily.”
“Well, Emily. Your momma wanted someone nice to take care of you, and I didn’t like that bi—” I coughed, my cheeks flushing as I caught myself mid-curse. I hesitated, struggling for a word that wouldn’t get me fired on my first day of attempting to be a parent. “I didn’t like that hag. Instead of kidnapping, I’m afraid I opted for adoption, as that’s far more legal.”
Emily’s eyes lit up. “You’re the nice boss lady?”
“Mrs. Peters had many nice bosses,” I replied with confidence. I knew most of the bosses of the East Coast firms, and Eval had yet to steer the company wrong in management. But Marrodin was like that, cultivating kind people rather than venomous snakes clad in human attire.
“No,”
Emily corrected me, her mouth pursing in disapproval. “You’re the nice boss. You’re the one who took Mommy when no one else would. Mommy said that. Mommy doesn’t lie, because she says lying is wrong.”
What did a real mother say to something like that? I sat back on my heels and regarded the little girl. Did all six year olds sound so mature? Did they all act like little adults trapped in little bodies?
What had I gotten myself into?
Then again, Marrodin was founded on cases like Felicity Peters, taking in good people struggling to get by, teaching them what they needed to know to be a functional part of the company, and paying them what they needed even if it was more than what the role necessarily deserved. But how did Emily know I was at the top of the chain?
Still, it was pointless to argue with her when she was right. “That’s right, Emily. I’m the boss lady in charge of the other bosses.”
The girl continued to stare at me with eyes unclouded by the weight of the world. Then, the yellow darkened to a brown. “Mommy isn’t coming home, is she?”
It was a little like staring in a mirror. If I hadn’t known of the brutality of her mother’s death, I might not have heard the pain in her voice, the quiet and restrained grief etched into every line of her. It was something we shared.
Samantha wasn’t coming home either.
Children were so much more insightful than people gave them credit for, I decided. I reached out and smoothed her bangs. Emily reminded me of a needy cat who needed attention but too proud to ask for it. “No, Kitten, she’s not.”
“I like kitties,” Emily said, refusing to meet my eyes. After a long moment she asked, “Why?”
Despite knowing the question would come, hearing it drove daggers through my chest, more painful than any number of bullets. I managed to keep my voice calm and soft as I replied, “Let’s go inside. Then I’ll talk to you and your brother.”
“Alex,” she supplied.