She turned her pleasant face to me.
“We will not allow black witches in our territory,” I said.
“Darling,” she said. “You already did.” She turned to walk away. “Oh, and about that meeting your mate is planning. When we act, don’t interfere.”
Shadows cloaked her. The three of us waited on Arnoldo Salas’s porch until she was gone.
“Do you know why the witch could not make you do as she asked?” Stefan asked Salas.
Salas let air out through his nose like a spooked horse. “My mother had the pope bless me when I was a child. She asked him to bless me that witchcraft would not touch me or my children. It is a story my father liked to tell. My mother was afraid of witches.”
“Me, too,” I said, still looking around.
“She is gone,” Stefan said.
“You’re sure?” I asked.
He nodded. “I am certain.”
“Mr. Salas,” I said earnestly. “Do you have the ability to leave town for a week or two? You’ve caught the attention of the witches and I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
He nodded. “I have some vacation coming. My wife’s mother lives in California, and she has been asking us to come visit.”
“I would go.”
His mouth tightened. “It does not make me happy to leave the field because of a witch.”
“You have a family to protect,” I said.
“I can leave for two weeks. I have neighbors who can mind our place, but we still have to come home.”
“That will give her time to forget about you,” said Stefan. “Why don’t you call Mercy when you are ready to head back?”
“And if no one answers,” I told him grimly, “maybe you should consider staying away. I have a feeling that she’s not going to forget about you very easily.”
* * *
• • •
All of the lights were blazing at the Salas household when we left. I didn’t blame him in the least.
I called Adam’s cell phone and left the message that I was headed home. I called Warren’s phone and left the same message. Feeling Stefan’s attention on the matter, I said, “My recent kidnapping has left everyone a little on edge. So I check in.”
He nodded.
Eventually he asked, “What do you intend to do about the witches?”
“Not my call,” I told him. “I’ll let Adam know and he’ll take it from there.”
Not that I wouldn’t give him suggestions. I hesitated, but I needed to talk this out. And Stefan had a tactical mind—he could pick out things that I missed sometimes.
“Why didn’t the witch just pick up the phone and call us? Our pack isn’t exactly hiding out. She killed the goats, turned them into zombies, to get our attention? That is a serious waste of power right before what might be a real fight. Killing Elizaveta’s people would get our attention all on its own. She doesn’t make sense. But, Stefan, she wasn’t lying.”
“Just because something is stupid doesn’t mean it is not true,” said Stefan.
I tapped my fingers on the dashboard. “No, but it’s still stupid.” I thought a little more. “I can understand tonight—just now at Salas’s house. There was no power wasted. She was testing us, to see if we would protect someone who we met just this morning.”
“Probing for weakness, yes,” said Stefan. “I agree. I have another thought you are not going to like. She meant to take the boy—you could see it in her. She took the goats as revenge because that boy stood up to her. She tested the father, but it didn’t anger her. She expected it. Witches have different affinities, but most of them are good with things like bloodline powers.”
“The boy resisted her—and she divined that it was something that might run in his family?” I asked. “Because she could normally control someone? If she asked someone to come to her, they would have to do it?” I swallowed. “I thought they needed artifacts—like the collar Bonarata had on that poor werewolf in Italy.”
“For werewolves,” he said. “But people with no magic?” He shrugged. At least he didn’t sound happy about it. “If it helps,” he added, “it is a rare thing. Back in the days when covens dotted the landscape of Europe, they were highly prized. They called them Love Talkers.”
“Love Talkers are fae,” I told him. “And they are male.”
“In fairy tales,” he said. “But most of those stories are about witches, not the fae. And I think it is one of the few witch traits that is equally strong in men and women.”
I supposed if Baba Yaga was fae, it was only fair that some of the stories about the fae were really about witches.
He continued, “We are safe enough, but I am not sure a blessing, even one given by the pope, could make a human resistant to witchcraft.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “But witchborn families can be resistant to magic.”
I didn’t think, upon reflection, that the Salases were even a little bit safe while that witch knew where they were. If they were witchborn and didn’t know it, that would explain why the witch singled them out. It also meant that, like any other white witches, they were prey.
I picked up my phone and called Mary Jo.
She listened while I explained everything.
“You want me to protect them?” she asked.
“I want you to find another two wolves and go keep watch. Call us—me, I suppose, because Adam is in another freaking long meeting—if you notice anything awry. Do not engage unless it can’t be helped. But this man’s whole family has a target painted on their backs.”
“You have any objection to me grabbing Sherwood and Joel?” she asked.
I hesitated. “Only if you don’t force Sherwood,” I said finally. “Accept no for an answer.”
“Done,” she said and disconnected.
* * *
• • •
The billboard on Chemical Drive was new. Don’t let the monsters win in our city was sprawled menacingly over a picture of a cute little girl with a terrified expression on her face, down which slid a single tear. A shadow of a wolflike creature fell over her white dress. In case I was in any doubt of who funded the billboard, eight-foot-tall letters on the right-hand corner proclaimed the website address for the John Lauren Society.
The Citizens for a Bright Future were more active in the Tri-Cities, so I was more familiar with their tactics. Bright Future’s focus was more protest marches, graffiti, and vandalism. My builder had spent a lot of time and money (for which I was billed) keeping them away from the garage. Now that the garage was rebuilt, Hauptman Security had run people off twice in the last two weeks. I had killed one of Bright Future’s members a while back. It had been self-defense, but they didn’t intend to let it go. Not as long as his cousin ran the local chapter, anyway.
The John Lauren Society was a different enemy altogether. They had money and their attacks were better planned. The billboards that had begun springing up all over town after the incident with the troll and the bridge were the first hint we’d had that they were interested in the Tri-Cities. Two of the signs on the farmer’s field this morning had been smaller versions of JLS billboards.
It was good, I thought as I drove past the billboard, to remember that not everyone was enamored of living in a city under the protection of a werewolf pack.
I wondered what the JLS would think about witches.
* * *
• • •
Hordes of hungry werewolves were awaiting the food I brought. Okay, it was only Lucia, Aiden, George, and Honey—and only some of them were werewolves. But they were hungry.
I threaded my way past the destruction between the front door and the kitchen, then passed out the cold food and ate myself, one hip on a counter, and caught up with everyone’s day.
“Cookie is gone,” Aiden told me sadly.
I looked up at Lucia, who nodded. “The brother of a friend of mine took her. She has a nice family now, and another shepherd to play with.”
Aiden sighed. “And there are too many people coming in and out of here for her. I know.”
Lucia tilted her head. “We can find another dog who needs our help. Maybe one who would enjoy all the commotion?”
“That’s where you were when the zombie wolf tried to destroy the house?” I asked.
She nodded. “Cookie saved my life.” She didn’t sound worried. Lucia was one of the most confident people I’d ever met. If she were a werewolf, she might give Bran a run for his money.
“And you saved hers,” said Aiden, sounding happier. “Balance.”
Aiden had spent a long time in Underhill. We were working on things like generosity and charity. He was more comfortable with bargains.
It was early when I headed to bed, but it had been a long day and I was tired. I took a long, hot shower that loosened my sore muscles, then took my battered body and tucked it into our big bed.
In my dreams I was wandering down a dark road with Coyote. We were talking about . . . water, I think. Then suddenly Coyote stopped, turned to me, grabbed me by my hands, looked into my eyes, and said, “Her name is Death.”
I woke up gasping in panic, and Adam’s voice from the bathroom said, “It’s all right, sweetheart, it’s just me.”
“It’s just I,” I told him, more pedantic than usual because I was scared.
“Good to know,” he said, unperturbed. “I’d hate to think that someone else was in my bed.”
“How did your meeting go?” I asked, shaking off the ugly feeling that had accompanied my nightmare.
He grunted without pleasure. “It would be so much easier if I could kill a few of them. Then I wouldn’t have to argue for an hour to get them to see common sense. I have one more meeting tomorrow afternoon before the show is ready to start. Can you break free? They want to meet you and tell you that you don’t have any real power, they just need you to be the figurehead and play messenger.”