Charles had been sent down to find out what was going on. At that point the assumption was that the witches wanted a base for a drug operation, as Salt Lake had been experiencing an explosion of drug-related arrests. What he and Aaron had uncovered was a web of witches engaged in the trafficking of minors—such a clean term for what they’d found.
The witches had brought in children from all over the world—some of them in “adoptions,” some of them kidnapped, and others sold by their families, who mostly expected them to go on to better lives. The witches used magic to condition the children, who were as young as six or seven, to obedience, and shipped them off all over the US.
He and Aaron had been able to save a few of them, with the help of Charles’s brother, Samuel. But the damage the magic used on the children had done was irreversible after a few days. Most of those children had been unrecoverable.
Aaron had passed on his leadership of the pack and gone out witch hunting for the next decade or so. He’d significantly reduced the number of practicing black witches in Utah before one of them had killed him in Royal, a ghost town in Price Canyon.
Daniel and Jennifer Erasmus—and now that he thought on it, she had been born into the Green family—had been the masterminds behind the trafficking and the magic that broke those children’s minds. Charles had killed Jennifer himself. He had hunted Daniel off and on for years, but even whispers and rumors of the witch’s activities had died. He’d assumed someone else had managed to kill Daniel, but apparently not. Daniel had taken on his wife’s name, possibly because the Green family had been a prominent one. Daniel was the only witch Charles knew of who carried the Erasmus name. Maybe Daniel had changed it to throw off the werewolves who were looking for him. If so, Charles was embarrassed it had worked.
Charles glanced up at the huge building looming behind them. Just walking through those halls had left Charles wishing for a shower to wash the ichor of foulness from his skin. They were torturing the old and infirm for magical power. He did not think that Erasmus, that Daniel Green, was an exception.
Charles remembered the first group of children he and Aaron had found in a mobile home out in the mountains. They had been looking for cocaine, and they’d found that—nearly half a million dollars’ worth—stored behind the skirting around the building. They hadn’t been expecting the children. They hadn’t been able to save any of that group, though all of the children were still upright and breathing when they’d found them. Whatever the witches had done to them had destroyed their minds. Charles had laid them all to rest himself because Aaron hadn’t been able to bear it that first time. The next time, the Wasatch Alpha had helped.
Charles could not imagine a better place for Erasmus to end up than this house of horrors. He hoped the old witch lived forever.
He was glad that Anna knew neither what Erasmus was nor what they were doing to him in this place. They needed the information that he had, and Anna’s usual charisma was getting Erasmus to talk. If she knew what the witch had done, she wouldn’t be able to give him the smile that was keeping the weasel talking.
Charles kept quiet, kept his senses open, and stayed just out of the old man’s sight.
“What was the bargain?” Anna asked the old man, her voice soft and coaxing, as if she were dealing with a human being instead of Daniel Erasmus. Doubtless she was more effective that way.
“Power,” the old man said. “And safety. You know what life is like for a white witch. Carrie might as well have painted a target on her back and held up a sign saying ‘All-you-can-eat buffet.’” He scowled, fisting his hand.
Charles wondered how Carrie had protected herself from the old man if she had chosen the least powerful path open to a witch. He had no doubt that Erasmus would have taken every scrap of power she had, granddaughter or not, once she had defied his wishes.
“It promised them a safe place to live, free from being hunted.” Erasmus’s voice was tight. “A second bargain was that if they fed it, it would give them power.”
Something drew the old man’s attention. Charles felt it, too, glancing to the source: Underwood. Erasmus had broken the technology that was listening in—but Charles had no doubt that Underwood had some other means of eavesdropping. Because he used his magic to tug on one of the spells wrapped around the old man.
“Fed it with music?” hazarded Anna, oblivious to the currents of magic in the air.
She’d made a good guess, Charles thought. Whatever lived in those mountains had pounced on Anna while she played “The Minstrel Boy.”
“What?” Erasmus asked, turning his head to frown at Anna. “What are you on about? Who are you? Where is my nurse?” With each question, he became more querulous.
“What did they feed the Singer in the Woods?” Anna asked.
The old man snarled at her. “What the fuck do I care?”
Charles stepped in front of Erasmus, breaking Underwood’s line of sight. Anna scooted over on her seat, but Charles went down on one knee in front of the old man.
“I am Charles Cornick,” he said, his voice harsh as he used the old man’s fear to brush away Underwood’s cobwebs. “You know who I am. What did your granddaughter do for the thing in the mountains? What did it want in return for safety? For power?” There had been two bargains.
“Carrie?” His old voice was shaky, but the volume had increased to the point that Charles was sure Underwood could hear it from the path he was hurrying up. “She was a musician. A fiddler.”
“She played music for it?” Anna asked, her voice gentle. Charles felt Anna’s power encompass the vile old man, and he wanted to snarl.
It would be so easy to reach out and break his neck.
“They fed that thing music and it gave them power,” said the old man, face twitching as he fought whatever Underwood’s leash was doing to him. “It should have been mine.”
We could tear out his throat, offered Brother Wolf.
His death would be too quick, Charles returned grimly.
We are not cats who toy with our prey, said Brother Wolf, but he didn’t sound scolding. He was thinking about those children, too. They hurt him here?
Yes, said Charles. He had not seen absolute proof of that, but he knew black witches.
Good.
“What did the Singer in the Woods want from Carrie in return for keeping them safe?” Charles asked again. “What did it want that they didn’t give it? How did they break their bargain with it?”
The old man blinked at him, his mouth opening and closing, a drop of saliva beading on the corner for a moment before he licked his lips.
Charles knelt, holding the old witch with his eyes, letting Brother Wolf brush aside Underwood’s magic, which would have kept Daniel silent. “Daniel Erasmus. By your true name, I require you answer me.”
The old man tried to break his gaze, his face twisting in pain at being caught between two magics. Charles didn’t care about Daniel Erasmus’s pain. At all.
Not until he heard Anna’s unhappy intake of breath, anyway.
We will make this quicker, agreed Brother Wolf, drawing power from the pack to increase the pressure they were putting on the witch.
The old witch jerked his head forward and snarled at Charles, “It wanted walkers in the world. Walkers to find things out for it and bring back food.”
“What is a walker in the world?” Anna asked.
Charles had a horrible thought—because he knew someone who was a walker.
“They come in the afternoon,” Daniel Erasmus told Anna, then let out a sound of rage and horror. “Fuck you. Fuck you all. They come in the afternoon and they feed upon me until there is nothing left.”
He laughed, a sly sound that made Anna sad for the lost titan. Charles could see it on her face.
“But I know something they don’t.” Erasmus gestured for her to lean closer.
Charles held her back with a hand on her shoulder; he wasn’t letting his mate get any nearer than she already was.
&nb
sp; “They thought that it bargained like the fae,” Charles said. “That the words mattered. But this creature bargains with intent.”
“Words don’t matter to a god,” said Erasmus. “Stupid bitch. She was a ripe plum ready for me to pluck. So much power for a white witch. I could have eaten her and taken that power. Then when they came for me, there would have been such a reckoning.” He shook with frustrated rage as he spat out, “And then she got her stupid self killed. Fuck her.” His voice dropped to a raspy growl. “And fuck you, Charles-fucking-Cornick, for not hunting me down and killing me like you should have done.”
In the midst of his words, he flung out a hand, and a wave of oily black power poured out of him like a mist of darkness—as if Charles would let the old man harm Anna. Charles blew and the wind followed his request, dissipating the blackness into the air, where the hungry magic spells of the garden sucked in the power with more efficiency than a Hoover vacuum.
It would not, Charles thought, be a good idea to use magic in this place.
“Daniel,” said Dr. Underwood in a soothing voice that was somewhat contradicted by the heaving of his breathing as he trotted up the last step. “We need to remember that these are our guests.”
He is out of shape, observed Brother Wolf. And there is something wrong with his lungs. Can you smell the illness in him?
Brother Wolf was in full hunting mode.
Erasmus scowled and half rose out of the chair. The blankets that swathed him were dislodged, revealing the cuffs on his ankles and the binding around his waist. His arms would look unbound to eyes unable to perceive the world as it was. To Charles, the faint marks of a tattoo only a little darker than Daniel Erasmus’s parchment skin stood out like a brand. The inked spell held him with greater sureness than the steel chain attached to his ankles.
“Rest now,” soothed Underwood, touching the riled patient on the forehead. Someone else would not have seen the brutal magic that subdued the old man.
Yes, thought Charles, remembering the children, this was a very good place for the old witch. But the old man had been powerful and Underwood was not.
“She stole it from me,” Erasmus roared, spittle spraying the doctor as the old witch rocked forward in the chair. “She was mine to feed upon. That power was mine. Mine. Mine, and she gave it to a fucking god that sings in the woods. Stupid little—”
“Danny, be a good boy,” said the returning nurse, power in her voice.
Charles wasn’t worried about Erasmus or Dr. Underwood, but the nurse was a different matter entirely. As Erasmus collapsed back in his chair and Underwood straightened, smoothing out his jacket, Charles put himself between Anna and the nurse. He pushed Anna (gently) to the edge of the concrete platform they stood on.
Mary Frank invaded the space in a cloud of Chanel No. 5. He still could not smell the black magic stink, but his skin and spirit knew what had created this place, what kind of witch she was.
And still, in his prime, Erasmus could have destroyed this witch with a few words. Now he subsided in the chair, listing to the left, dull-eyed and drooling a little out of the corner of his mouth.
“Were we being bad?” the nurse chided, straightening the blankets. She looked at Underwood and raised an imperious eyebrow. “We’ll just head along to our room,” she said. “It’s time for Mr. Green’s constitutional.”
There was a bite to that last word, and Daniel Green, who had once been Daniel Erasmus, began to sob and mumble. As his eyes fell on Anna he said, “Help me, please. Such a nice lady. Help?”
Anna stirred, and Charles put a hand on her shoulder and made a soothing noise as the nurse rolled her victim up the garden path. Anna glanced up at him and he could almost read the words in her face.
Are they doing what I think they are? Why don’t you stop it? Why don’t you want me to stop it? The man I love would not let a helpless old man be tortured.
What she actually said was, “Charles?”
He touched her face lightly. “I knew him before,” he told her.
She took that in and gave him a shallow nod. Trust, he thought, but verify. Her face told him that he owed her a good explanation when they were out of here.
C H A P T E R
9
“Ms. and Mr. Cornick, I believe you agreed to speak with me,” Underwood said after Daniel and his nurse were well on their way. “Let me take you to my office, where we can talk uninterrupted.”
He turned and headed out on a trajectory that wouldn’t lead him to the path they had originally taken from the main building, making the assumption that they would follow. Which was a safe enough move, if not for the reasons Underwood expected. Brother Wolf all but purred with anticipation.
Anna followed him without demur, and Charles could see the frail net of Underwood’s magic clinging to her, though it thinned more as the spellcraft worked in the garden fed upon it. Even at full power, Underwood’s spell was indirect, relying upon cooperation from the person it was laid upon to have full effect. It was something Anna herself could have broken if Underwood had been asking her to do something she was actually opposed to doing.
Underwood’s assumption of their compliance told Charles that the doctor hadn’t realized Charles had largely neutralized the magic Underwood had been trying on Erasmus. If he had, he would have realized that Charles might be more than he could take on by himself. The desire to keep Underwood in the dark had been the reason Charles had kept his own working subtle. After watching Underwood trying to calm the old man, Charles could see how the doctor might think it had been the old witch himself who had pushed back Underwood’s magic.
The predator in him took note that Underwood was so unskilled that he didn’t understand his spell had not been able to dig into Charles at all. That hadn’t been anything Charles had consciously done, but such a weak construct stood no chance against Charles’s natural shields.
Charles didn’t like leaving Underwood’s influence attached to Anna, but he didn’t want a confrontation just yet. Underwood was no threat. But the garden … that was another matter. He knew that most people who could work or sense magic thought of it as a lifeless power, but he’d been taught by a man who understood that the world was full of spirits, of life. Charles was sure that the garden, whatever the witches thought they had, was a living being.
If he and Underwood had a fight out on the stone walks of the garden, he wasn’t sure either of them would survive intact. Even Brother Wolf acceded to Charles’s judgment in leaving Anna be-spelled, because fighting on uncertain ground was better avoided.
And it was necessary to find out what Underwood had in mind, what he wanted from them. Charles didn’t like to think there was any kind of connection between the witches running this place and whatever had happened at Wild Sign. Black witches were not a fate he would wish on anyone.
Except Daniel Erasmus, Brother Wolf reminded him.
But the hungry expression on Erasmus’s face as he ranted about the power his granddaughter had robbed him of highlighted the fact that the witches in this place might have a reason to be curious about Carrie Green. If the werewolves were going to find themselves going up against witches as well as the Singer, it would be a good thing to know.
Charles paced behind Anna, occasionally blowing the garden’s tendrils of power away from her when they attempted to brush up against her skin. They were welcome to Underwood’s spellcrafting, but he would not allow them to try to feed upon Anna. Anna was not witchborn, so probably the spells in this garden would have done her no harm, but Charles saw no reason to risk it.
The garden made no attempt to touch him.
FROM THE VANTAGE point of the window of Underwood’s second-floor office, the hungry garden looked like nothing more than a well-tended green space. Outside of admiration for its outstanding design, the view elicited nothing more worrisome than the realization of how much money this place spent on labor to keep such an extensive space better groomed than a golf course.
Unless
someone was like Charles, who could feel its soothing power reaching through the walls of the building. Funny how Anna, doing basically the same thing, made Brother Wolf content and peaceful, while the garden kept him in a state of near violence. Well, that and having to leave Anna under the influence of Underwood’s magic.
Underwood’s room was obviously designed to facilitate meetings with wealthy people who needed their problem responsibilities dealt with. Everything from the rich leather chairs to the subtle scent of tobacco was designed to inspire confidence.
“Please have a seat,” Underwood said.
Anna perched on one of the leather armchairs, but Charles ignored Underwood’s suggestion and stood behind her. He reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder, his thumb brushing the skin of her neck.
With that touch, Charles swept away the last of Underwood’s spell-weaving. It was not a great feat to give Anna a little protection at the same time, and it soothed Charles. If someone else wanted to bespell her, they would have to make a real effort now.
Which we will not allow, stated Brother Wolf.
No, they would not.
He waited for Underwood to react to Charles freeing Anna. But he’d overestimated the witch. Underwood continued pulling out his chair and settling in it without pause. He straightened his desk in a manner that seemed to be calculated to prove to himself that he was in control of the situation.
When he looked up, his friendly, fatherly persona was intact. Then he saw Charles standing behind Anna and frowned a little, as if surprised that Charles hadn’t followed his directive.
It might be, Charles thought, that with this place steeped in so much witchcraft, Underwood just wasn’t sensitive enough to tell what was going on with his own spells.
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