Chapter 6 Sable #2
"He's so soft," she breathed. "And warm. Is he magic?"
"A little bit, yes."
"I'm going to be magic when I grow up," she announced. "Mama says wolves can't do magic, but I'm going to find a way."
Something in my chest twisted—a feeling I couldn't name and didn't want to examine too closely.
"I’d say you’re both right. Wolves might not be able to do magic, but you are magic. That’s pretty special, right?"
Her cupid’s bow mouth twisted as she thought. "I guess, but I want to do magic. With sparkles and everything. See?" She waved her fingers in front of her as if the air would start shimmering at her command.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Elodie." She beamed at me, gap-toothed and utterly unafraid. "What's yours?"
"Sable."
"That's a pretty name." She turned back to Trouble, who had begun to purr—actually purr, the ridiculous creature—under her ministrations. "Mr. Trouble, do you want to play?"
Before I could respond, Trouble hopped down from my shoulder—carefully, mindful of his ribs—and touched his nose to Elodie's hand. Then he darted away, looking back over his shoulder with obvious invitation.
Elodie shrieked with delight and chased after him, weaving between tables while Trouble stayed just ahead of her, his foxfire flickering brighter now.
I watched them go, something complicated settling behind my ribs.
"She lost her father last year. He was a witch, too," Cara said quietly, following my gaze. "Varro's men. Border skirmish."
The complicated feeling curdled into something darker. "And she's not afraid of me? Even knowing I worked for him?"
"Kids don't think like that." Cara took a sip of her drink. "They see a woman with a magic fox. That's enough. Plus, it wasn’t like you got a choice in the matter."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing.
The meal continued, and somewhere between my second and third helping—Gianna kept appearing with more food every time my plate looked even remotely empty—the pack started approaching.
The first was a hawk shifter named Gavin, lean and sharp-featured with eyes that missed nothing. He slid onto the bench across from me without asking permission and folded his hands on the table like he was settling in for a lecture.
"So," he said. "Truth-taster."
I tensed, waiting for the accusation. The suspicion. The “What did you do for Varro” that I knew was coming.
Instead, he leaned forward with genuine scholarly interest. "How does it work, exactly? Is it tied to auditory processing, or is it more of a magical resonance? I've read about lie-detection gifts, but the literature is frustratingly vague on the mechanisms."
I blinked at him. "You... want to know how my gift works?"
"I want to know how everything works." He waved a hand dismissively.
"It's a character flaw. Cara says I'd interrogate a hurricane if I thought it would answer.
But truth-tasting—that's rare. Genuinely rare.
The last documented case I found was nearly two centuries ago, and the records were incomplete at best."
"It's... taste," I said slowly, still waiting for the trap. "Lies have flavors. Bitter, metallic, rotten—depends on the lie and the person telling it. Truth tastes clean. Neutral. Sometimes sweet, if it's a truth someone's been wanting to tell."
Gavin's eyes lit up like I'd just handed him a gift. "Fascinating. And is it automatic, or do you have to consciously engage the ability? Can you turn it off? What happens if someone believes their own lie—does that register differently than a deliberate deception?"
"Gavin." Cara's voice cut across the table. "She's eating. Let her breathe."
"I'm gathering data."
"You're being a pest. There's a difference."
He sighed dramatically but pushed himself up from the bench. "Fine, fine. But I want to continue this conversation later," he added, pointing at me. "This is important research."
Then he wandered off, already muttering to himself about “auditory processing” and “magical resonance,” and I found myself almost smiling.
"He's like that with everyone," Cara said, taking a drink from her tankard. "Don't take it personally."
I knew I’d said I hadn’t wanted to answer questions, but that was almost friendly. "I didn't say I minded."
She raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
The next visitor was less academic.
An older wolf woman with iron-gray hair and a face weathered by decades of hard living planted herself beside me. She looked me up and down with the critical eye of someone who'd raised a dozen children and buried half of them.
"Bess," she announced, not bothering with pleasantries. "You're the witch."
"I'm the witch," I agreed, bracing for impact.
"Hmph." She reached across the table, grabbed a serving platter, and deposited a truly alarming amount of vegetables onto my plate. "You need more meat on your bones. Can't fight a war looking like a strong wind would snap you in half."
"I really can't eat all—"
"Wasn't asking." She shoved a roll into my hand. "Eat. You'll thank me later."
I looked to Harkan for help, but he was suddenly very interested in his ale.
Wuss.
Bess stayed for a few minutes, asking pointed questions about where I'd come from—not Varro, but before.
The Divide. My mother's shop. Whether I knew how to preserve herbs properly or if I'd been doing it wrong this whole time.
By the end, I couldn't tell if she'd approved of me or was planning to adopt me out of pity.
Maybe both.
I muddled through my new serving of food before a pair of younger wolves approached next—brothers, by the look of them, with the same sharp jaw and the same nervous energy. They looked eighteen or nineteen at most, still gangly with youth but becoming more than children.
"Is it true you pinned Petra to the wall?" the first one asked, eyes wide.
"Julian," his brother hissed, elbowing him. "You can't just ask her that. It’s rude."
"Why not? Everyone's talking about it. Everyone wants to know. I’m just—"
His brother cut him off. "Being an ass, that’s what."
I took a slow sip of my ale, letting them squirm as I fought off a laugh. "Yes. I pinned her to the wall."
"With magic?" Julian asked, his eyes lighting up with a hint of his wolf. Petra was not winning any popularity contests, that was for damn sure.
"No, with my charming personality." I set the tankard down. "Yes, with magic."
The brothers exchanged looks of pure awe.
"That's incredible," Julian breathed. "Petra's been terrorizing the younger pack members for years. No one ever—I mean, we couldn't—she's too strong and too mean, and—"
"What my idiot brother is trying to say," the other one cut in, "is thank you. Even if you didn't mean it that way."
They scurried off before I could respond, whispering furiously to each other.
I stared after them, discomfort prickling at the thought of them being harmed—especially by Petra.
"Petra's not well-liked," Harkan admitted before sipping on his ale.
"No shit," I muttered. "Why do you tolerate her?"
"Because her father died defending this pack, and kicking out his daughter would send the wrong message." Cara's expression was carefully neutral. "Politics. Even shifter packs have them."
Politics had always pissed me off, but I could see the dilemma. I just didn’t like it. "And what message does it send if a bitch with no manners hurts weaker members of your pack just because she can?"
Cara's mouth quirked like she was proud I'd asked the question, but Harkan's expression had shuttered into something unreadable. The easy authority he'd carried into the room seemed heavier now, like a weight he couldn't set down.
"It sends the message that I'm a fool who values the dead over the living." His voice was low, meant only for me. "Thank you for the reminder."
It wasn't sarcasm. It wasn't defensive. He meant it.
I opened my mouth to say something—I didn't know what—but he was already turning to flag down Gianna for more ale.
For a moment, the hall felt almost... normal. Warm. Safe.
I should have known better.
The door to the dining hall burst open with a crash that silenced every voice in the room. Two figures stumbled through—bloodied, barely standing, the stench of copper and fear flooding the space between one heartbeat and the next.
And the warmth I'd almost let myself feel turned to ice.