Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“Everyone else get back,” Aidan barked at the townsfolk still on the pavement, those hanging out of windows, peering around doors.
The raven led the white wolf down an alley, over a boardwalk, and onto the sand against which the sea foamed.
Orla tore down the beach, barking.
“Will that work?” Sorcha wilted, still tethered to the magic she had sent the raven. Aidan caught her around the waist.
He shook his head. “I wish I knew.”
By the time Sorcha and Aidan made it to the Wolf Wood, it was clear that Orla had already arrived. The raven had long gone and Sorcha’s witch knot itched unbearably. Magic stretched at such a distance, even her natural gift took its toll. She could taste burned bread in the back of her throat.
The camp was very nearly deserted. It was eerie, smoke lifting from fires, wind chimes twirling when there was no wind to touch them.
“They’ve got her chained,” Aidan explained, clearly hearing a multitude of sounds she could not as they walked between the tents. “Freya has her.”
“That’s good,” Sorcha said. She recalled the whip of Freya’s magic flaying the curse from her. “Isn’t it?”
“I hope so.”
The wolves were crowded around the edge of the camp. Sorcha could only see the backs of people’s heads and several huge wolves.
And Brutus.
He stalked toward her so quickly that she tripped over her foot in her haste to get out of his way. But he only seized her up in a crushing hug, tears running into his beard. She should have guessed that he meant her no harm, as Aidan did not stop him. “You found my daughter. You found my girl.”
Sorcha patted his shoulder while also trying to breathe.
“Brutus,” Aidan said calmly. “She needs her lungs intact. She doesn’t have Lycan strength.”
Brutus dropped her abruptly. “I forget you’re not a wolf.”
Sorcha beamed. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Aidan frowned thoughtfully.
“Anything you need,” Brutus choked out. “My wolf is yours.”
Sorcha patted his shoulder again, uncomfortable with so much gratitude. She was far more accustomed to being bitten for her troubles. Especially since Orla might be home now, but she was far from healed. “Aidan is the one who got through to her, really,” she said. “He sent her home.”
Brutus wiped his eyes. “She was lost.”
Orla whined from her cage. Brutus turned on his heel and rushed away without another word.
Despite Brutus’s relief, the atmosphere of the camp was subdued, while at the same time also burning with a combination of fear and fury.
Orla whined as she struggled against Freya’s bindings. She shoved at the bars of her iron cage no matter how much Brutus pleaded with her to be still, telling her that she was safe now. She was home. There was no way of knowing what she could remember, or if she even recognized him.
Some of the Lycan wanted to form raiding parties, wanted to fight the Collector, but also anyone who might cross their path. Freya forbade the wolves from leaving unless it was to track the missing wolves. Odessa was the latest to go out hunting and not return.
The Alphas convened deeper in the forest, Aidan among them. Orla continued to alternate between whining and growling so threateningly that Sorcha’s hair stood on end and would not flatten.
She eventually found herself in the kitchen tent, needing to keep her hands busy.
The loaves of bread and rolls were dwindling and they had an odd smell, like far too much rosewater.
She put them aside and went to work mixing flour and yeast and honey into a large bowl.
If there was anything Granny had taught her, it was that no matter the circumstances, bread was a balm. People always needed to eat.
She mixed dough and covered it with a towel to let it rise, then made bannock dough for something that would be ready much quicker.
She used an iron skillet with lots of butter, making several of the rustic, thick flatbreads and cutting them into triangles.
Some of the children drifted closer, following their noses.
“Is it true you have a familiar?” one of the young girls asked.
Her feet were bare and she had made a chain of daisies for her hair.
Sorcha nodded. “I do. His name is Sir Elderberry.”
They stared at her in awe. “Can we see him?”
Lycan did not have familiars in the way of ordinary witches—they became their animal spirit. It had never occurred to her that little wolves would be as entranced by the idea of familiars as little witches were at the idea of turning into a wolf.
Elderberry shot from her chest like a shooting star, all glowing feathers and gleaming beak, swooping around the children until they shrieked with laughter, chasing him.
One of the fathers sent her a smile. Sorcha returned it and went back to mixing dough. Gretel ducked into the tent and dropped onto a bench, eyes rimmed with red. Sorcha passed her a plate of warm bannock. Gretel ate three pieces before she spoke. “That helped, thank you.”
Sorcha nodded. Anger and sorrow and fear all tended to leave one feeling like boiled celery.
She had seen it time and time again. Once you felt safe again—whether you were a sparrow being untangled from a thicket or a witch from a binding spell or a wolf from chains—you became ravenous.
When the hippogriff had finally started eating again, he had consumed twelve loaves of bread, fourteen apples, and three beef pies.
“Do you know Orla?” Sorcha asked. “Is she a friend?”
Gretel nodded and pursed her lips when they began to tremble. “I didn’t realize how much until she went missing.”
“That’s the way of it sometimes.”
“And now Lorcan is gone as well.”
Sorcha stared at her. “No. I’m so sorry.”
The Collector was winning. It made her bare her own pitifully human teeth.
Gretel wiped the tears from her cheek. “Even I can’t find him, and we’re kin.”
One of the children darted under the tent, reaching for a slice of bannock. He took a large bite and, in his haste, nearly choked. “This is so much better than the bread this morning! It tasted like soggy roses.” He looked around furtively. “Don’t tell my ma.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Sorcha assured him.
He grabbed two more slices, then noticed Gretel. “Brutus is asking for you. He says Orla gets worse when you’re not there.”
Gretel jumped to her feet, eyes still glistening. “I can’t find Lorcan, but I can at least help Orla.”
“Wait,” Sorcha said. “What’s her favorite food? When she’s not a wolf?”
“Apple pie.”
Sorcha nodded, piling bannock on a plate, with apple slices she warmed hurriedly in the skillet with honey. “Maybe this will help.”
Gretel took the plate, swallowing hard. “If you ever want to become a wolf, Sorcha, I’ll bite you myself.”
“Careful,” Aidan said from behind her, the Alpha rumbling in his voice.
Gretel dipped her head, knuckles whitening around the plate. But she mouthed, I mean it, to Sorcha before rushing away.
“Lorcan is missing,” Sorcha said.
“Aye, so I’ve just heard. That’s three now, after Orla.
” Aidan looked so solid and serious, with that line between his brow.
She wanted to wrap herself around him. Instead, she offered him one of the warm honey buns.
He ate it and three more. “I heard you were feeding the entire Wolf Wood,” he said.
“I was. I’ve run out of butter.”
“Did you eat anything?” he asked.
She paused. “Um.”
“Nothing at all?”
She had licked honey off her thumb, but she was fairly certain that did not count.
“As I thought.” He did not sound surprised, only a little stern, a little fond. He sliced a generous piece from the cheese wheel, then added bread and raspberries, tart like she preferred.
When he made her tea, she thought she might have married him on the spot.
He sat next to her. She leaned into his sturdy warmth, he pressed his lips to the top of her head, and they stayed that way for a very long time.