“Of course you care. He was your father. So what else did the asshole say to you?”
Madison blinked in surprise. “He said if I sang, I’d burn in hell like my mom. Growing up, he implied that’s why she died – because she was a singer.”
“That’s insane.”
“Yeah, well, it didn’t seem that way when I was six and had just lost my mother. I didn’t sing again for ten years.” She looked out the window, trying to hide the tear sliding down her cheek. “I wanted to, though. I thought I was evil for wanting to, but it was like something inside me trying desperately to come out.”
“A gift is meant to be used,” Scott said. “It’s part of your soul. Part of who you are. Suppressing it can be damaging.”
“Cassie said something like that to me once. Said it was probably why I was so depressed growing up.”
“Are you still depressed?”
“I feel better.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“No, but I think I’ve shared enough personal stuff.” Madison wiped her cheek and turned back to face him. “How about sticking to non-personal things for a while?”
It was for the best, Scott knew, and what they should have done all along. Hope was a dangerous thing, especially where Madison was concerned. He was too torn between wanting her and knowing he didn’t deserve her.
“So what’s your favorite color?” Scott asked, figuring you couldn’t get much less personal than that.
“Red.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed that. You always wear black.”
There was no doubt about it, her cheeks turned her favorite color. His intuition kicked in and he suddenly, desperately, wanted a look beneath her black shirt and blue jeans to see if she wore red underneath.
So much for non-personal questions. Scott switched on the radio and they passed the rest of the trip listening to classic rock. She hummed along to the music, her sweet, sexy alto and her witch’s gift combining to fill his mind with ideas, and his body with need. Thanks to her gift she might have had the same effect on anyone, but from his point of view there wasn’t anything remotely impersonal about it.
Chapter 4
SOMEHOW, SCOTT SURVIVED THE DRIVE TO Springfield. Once he arrived at Clinton’s home, he would be all business – the alpha guiding the new pup into the pack. With Madison’s help, Clinton would have a better chance of surviving the transition than usual, and after that she would slide sideways out of Scott’s life. Return to the periphery of his existence where she’d dwelt for years.
At least, that was the plan. Intuition warned him well in advance that it wouldn’t be so easy, and as usual, his gift proved accurate.
Clinton wasn’t home when they arrived. His housemate grudgingly answered the door after they rang the bell ten or twelve times, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and looking hung over. He smelled like a combination of alcohol and an abused bathroom, a noxious odor powerful enough to overwhelm Scott’s heightened senses and send him reeling backwards a step.
“He has to be here,” Madison said. “I talked to him a few hours ago. He said he’d go home and wait for me.”
“Don’t know what to tell you,” the hung-over housemate said, squinting against the western horizon as if the light caused him pain. “He was still at the bar when I left at two. Was after last call. Don’t know why he stayed. Some guy was talking to him. Creepy.”
“Describe him,” Scott said in a voice that broached no argument. His pack members called it his I will be obeyed voice.
“Tall. Real tall. Like six and a half feet. And about as big around as my thumb.” He held out his thumb in demonstration.
“Can I assume you’re exaggerating?” Scott asked.
“Yeah, I guess a bit. Real skinny, though. Who are you?”
“I’m Clinton’s sister, Madison.” She started to hold out her hand, but apparently thought better of it when the housemate turned to look at her. She drew her hand back, and her nose wrinkled in evident disgust. She didn’t know how lucky she was that she didn’t have Scott’s sense of smell.
“Yeah, he mentioned you. What’s up?”
“He called last night. Seemed to be in some kind of trouble. If you have any idea where he is... Maybe with his girlfriend?”
“Yeah, maybe. She lives a few blocks from here.” He tried to describe the location using hand gestures and unfamiliar landmarks.
“Do you have an address?” Scott growled.
“Um. Maybe. Hold on.” He disappeared inside the house.
“Is there any chance he would have left blood or hair lying around?” Scott asked Madison under his breath while the housemate was away. “It would make this much easier.”
Madison shook her head, her thick chestnut hair swaying gently with the motion. “I warned him about that after Evan warned me. Even told him how to treat his hairbrush.”
“Damn. It’s a wonder the whole town doesn’t know by now.”
“He’s my family, and I had every right to protect him.”
Madison was right; Scott’s annoyance hadn’t been with her, even if he sometimes felt that the veil of secrecy protecting the magical world was dangerously thin. But before Scott could explain, the housemate returned, thrusting a piece of paper at him. “Here.”
Scott grunted, not inclined to offer thanks to a man too hung over to notice his housemate was in trouble. He turned around and was halfway to his truck when he heard Madison offer a soft thank you. She then mumbled something that sounded like an apology for his bad behavior. She didn’t know what bad behavior was.
The second leg of their journey took them only a few blocks, so short that the silence had barely begun to feel uncomfortable before they arrived. Clara lived on the second floor of a run-down building that probably hadn’t been nice when it had been brand new. Scott parked his car on the street and spent a moment studying it before making a move.
“I want you to stay here,” Scott said.
“Why?” Madison asked, though she wasn’t arguing. She had a brave face on, but she smelled of fear once again.
“Clara will smell what I am the moment I approach, and there may be a fight. I don’t want you to get in the middle of it.”
“Okay.”
He had been expecting an argument, but he supposed he had been spending too much time with Jessica, who would argue for the sake of arguing. Madison only argued when it really mattered. He liked that about her.
He left her in the driver’s seat, with the car still running in case she needed to get out of there quickly. Then he approached the door to apartment 2C.
He knew something was wrong before he knocked. Something about the place was too still. The threshold on the door was gone entirely, as if no one lived there. From what Madison had said, Clara had only lived there a few weeks, two months at the most, so her threshold wouldn’t have been strong, but it should have been there.
After a second’s hesitation, Scott kicked in the door. The werewolf lent him strength, perhaps a little too much for the flimsy door. Any reasonably strong man could have kicked it in; he splintered it and half ripped it off its hinges.
Inside the studio apartment was a battered futon, a dresser, an old console TV, and the remnants of last night’s dinner on the kitchen counter.
The dresser was empty. The tiny bathroom had been cleared of personal items such as a toothbrush, hairbrush, or razor. Scott had no doubt that Clara was long gone. He hadn’t doubted that since he sensed the lack of threshold. She had apparently gone in a hurry, too, judging by the state of the kitchen.
Scott sniffed the air, considering his next step. There wasn’t anything for him in the tiny efficiency kitchen, complete with miniature stove and one-foot square counter. Stale french fries and a half-eaten cheeseburger wouldn’t help him. The bathroom, on the other hand, might be a gold mine, assuming Clara didn’t know any better.
Jackpot. There, in the shower drain, Scott scraped a nice clump of hair that had been ca
relessly left behind by someone who didn’t know how he could use it against her. Blood would have been better but hair would work almost as well, especially since he doubted Clara had any power to shield herself.
Time to move.
* * *
Scott performed the scrying spell in the backseat of his pickup truck, in case Clara was on the move and they needed to follow. He used the version of the spell he had learned from Evan, which Madison knew as well, though she might not have the magic to pull it off – at least not alone. In a world where magic was a power game, covens could band together to do what individuals could not. Scott was a rare sorcerer who had more natural power than many full covens; the bite had only made him stronger.
But magic wasn’t all about power. It also required knowledge, practice, and finesse. Scott knew the scrying spell fairly well, but he didn’t cast it often. He spent a good fifteen minutes in a meditative trance, calling upon his reserves of magic to link the hair with the woman who had so carelessly discarded it. The clump of hair became a pulsing beacon in his mind, though outwardly, it looked the same. The beacon expanded outward in a slowly widening spiral until ...
There! He had her. And once the link was established, maintaining it became child’s play. Now Clara was the beacon pulsing through his mind; he no longer needed the hair.
Clara hadn’t gone as far as he had expected. Just down the street, in fact, to the restaurant where she worked. Scott gave Madison the directions and they pulled into the parking lot just as Clara emerged from the back, clutching an envelope to her chest that Scott would bet contained her final paycheck.
“Stay here,” Scott warned Madison as he hopped out of the truck.
Clara had blonde hair and blue eyes, though judging by the darkness of the barely visible roots, she hadn’t been born that way. The darker hair would have gone better with her olive complexion. She was a tiny little thing, barely a snack, as his pack members would say. He shied away from that sort of dark humor himself because it was too close to the truth. Most of them hadn’t killed a human; he had shielded them from that fate. He had, though, both in and out of wolf form. It wasn’t something he joked about.
With Clara making a beeline for her car, there wasn’t anything for Scott to do except intercept her. He knew the instant she scented him. Her eyes went wide, her muscles tensed, and then she sprinted.
Werewolves had supernatural strength, but not speed, which wasn’t to say Scott was slow. He ran every day to keep himself in shape and stay on top of the game. Apparently, Clara did as well, because he only just caught her as she reached her tiny little POS car, and then only because she needed to stop to open the door.
He slammed against her, using the full weight of his body to press her against the door so she couldn’t open it. She stiffened, but she didn’t cry out.
“Clara, I presume?” Scott asked.
“How do you know my name?”
“I know a lot of things. I know you have no business being in my territory.”
“What do you mean, your territory? I’ve been here for two months and haven’t seen another werewolf.”
She didn’t smell afraid. Was she stupid, or did she have an ace Scott hadn’t anticipated?
“Where’s your home pack?” Scott demanded.
“I’m from Memphis.”
“That would put you in Adam’s territory. Does he know you’re here?”
“Who’s Adam?”
“How long ago were you bitten?” Something was very wrong here, but he was having trouble putting his finger on it.
“I’ve never met another werewolf.”
Was it possible she was telling the truth? His intuition said maybe, but there was much more to the story, and she hadn’t answered his question. “You do know your life is forfeit, right?”
Finally, the faintest hint of fear. “Why?”
“You’re in my territory without my knowledge or permission.”
“I didn’t know.”
“That remains to be seen. Right now, I want to know what you’re lying about.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Try again.” Scott pushed her harder into the side of the car. It had to be uncomfortable, even for a werewolf, though he hadn’t done any permanent damage to her yet.
The added discomfort was apparently enough. She made her move, and though Scott was ready for it, she nearly managed to escape his grasp. She was stronger than any werewolf he had ever known, and if he were a normal wolf, she would have broken free. There was power in that tiny body of hers, and she knew how to use it. She had training. But so did he. And he had one thing she didn’t have – magic.
She pushed him backwards and pulled open the door, nearly managing to squeeze herself inside before he slammed the door shut on her outstretched arm. He pinned her there while he made his move.
He took a deep breath and turned within himself, reaching for his source of magic. Some called it a quiet place, others called it grounding and centering. He had never been too caught up on names. He only knew that when he reached within himself he found the peace and the power. He imagined it nestled between soft pillows, a vision that had been there as long as he could remember. It was a room full of pillows, vast, cushiony, and colorful. Very feminine, he sometimes thought. He had never told a soul about it.
Regardless of the form it took, the magic that existed there was real and potent. He found it, harnessed it, and fixed it to the spell he already had prepared for just such an encounter. His best friend, Evan, had hit upon using the sleep spell as a weapon, one that incapacitated an enemy without causing permanent damage. Scott needed that now. He needed to get Clara home in one piece so he could find out what she knew.
It was a spell he knew so well that he no longer needed props or a focus. He did think of chamomile – the flower and the tea – but only in a fleeting way. The entire process took a mere second, and then he directed the forces into the woman struggling to push him away from the door.
She stopped struggling. Scott opened the door, pulled out Clara’s limp form, tossed it over his shoulder in a careless fireman’s carry, then fished inside the car for her keys. Once he found them, he locked the car door, closing it behind him with a solid kick. Time to take the slippery little bitch home where he had access to a lab full of potions, not to mention the magic of his home node, and find out what was going on.
* * *
When Madison spotted Scott coming back with a woman draped over his shoulder, she thought he had killed her. Her eyes widened, her pulse leaped, and her mouth fell open, but nothing came out. Scott opened the back door, shoved the blonde woman across the seat, and only then did Madison detect the faint rise and fall of the woman’s chest.
“She’s asleep,” Scott said.
“Oh.” Madison tried to relax, but despite her earlier – and temporary – breakthrough, she still found Scott too intimidating. She doubted she’d ever relax around him.
“Did you think I’d killed her?”
“You did say her life was forfeit.” Madison hesitated, not sure if she wanted to know the answer to her next question, but feeling compelled to ask. “Are you going to kill her?”
“Probably. If I don’t, it will be seen as a sign of weakness.” He didn’t look at her while he spoke, he just put the car in gear and drove.
“Who has to know?” Madison asked.
“That depends upon who she is and what she’s up to. She’s too strong. And she’s lying about something.”
“How can you just kill someone in cold blood?” Madison found herself asking. She remembered another time he had killed, but then he had been full of rage, and he had done it to protect her. Technically, if she examined that night too closely, she knew that Scott hadn’t had to kill to save her life, but the world was better off without David McClellan in it, so she chose not to examine it too closely.
This would be something entirely different. If he killed the woman in the backseat it would be a cold and calc
ulated act. Maybe it shouldn’t make a difference, but it did.
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Scott said. “Maybe I should take you home. This really is pack business.”
“What about my brother? We still haven’t found him.”
“I don’t think we’re going to find him here,” Scott said.
“Why not?”
“Intuition.” Scott only offered the one word, but it was enough. Evan had told Madison that Scott had one of the most powerful gifts of intuition he’d ever seen, so powerful that it sometimes seemed like clairvoyance. If Scott didn’t think Clinton was in Springfield, then he probably wasn’t. But where was he?
Madison didn’t ask; she suddenly had a more pressing question. “Will you kill Clinton?”
“If he was turned here, then he isn’t trespassing, not unless he refuses to join the pack.”
“He can’t choose to be a lone wolf?”
Scott shot Madison an exasperated look. “That’s rare outside of books. As far as I know, there are none in North America. And to be honest, I think most packs would kill one if he came through their territory.”
“Would you?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Madison flattened herself against her seat, her breath coming a little shallower. Well, she’d asked, hadn’t she? She’d opened Pandora’s Box. What had she expected to find out? That deep down inside, Scott was a softie? She knew better. She’d seen the monster within, and what it could do.
“Your brother will be given the chance to join the pack,” Scott said.
“He doesn’t have much of a choice, does he?”
Madison's Song Page 5