Chapter Thirteen #2
The rest of the return journey was as pleasant as it could be while slipping and sliding through the muck, and a good deal more pleasant than it maybe should have been with the threat of enslavement looming over their heads.
Despite the cold and her valid concerns about what Grandmother was doing, Tasia had a lovely time walking home with Mitch.
No longer the taciturn grunter that she had met months ago, he willingly talked about anything and everything Tasia could think of.
She was sorry to see him go when their paths diverged.
And happy to remember that she would see—and possibly speak to—him every day.
The snows began in earnest that week. Mitch was able to do some investigating as a wolf, but with the snow sticking around, he had to be careful about paw prints.
Now that he knew what to look for, he forwent his wolf form so folks wouldn’t have any reason to get up in arms about a wild animal stalking them.
A few more barrels were found and emptied.
He checked in with Tasia daily until the full moon confined him to his room.
Remembering to set the ground work, he’d ensured that the whole inn—and Barone—were under the impression that he was explosively allergic to a new ingredient in the stew, and they’d left him alone for all three days.
To maintain that impression, Mitch had not left the room after the moon set, except to “empty” his chamber pot.
The innkeeper’s wife left bread and broth outside his door once a day.
He doubted it came from a place of kindness.
More likely, she didn’t want to deal with a dead outsider.
The severely restricted diet made him look rough when he finally emerged from his room on the fourth day.
His haggard appearance and ravenous appetite lent credence to his supposed indisposition, though.
If it had been any warmer, Mitch would have found a cave or some other shelter so he could eat whenever he wanted and not worry about revealing his furry little secret.
The last rest day before the winter dance was warmer than it had been for a while. Light clouds obscured the sky. The low spots and frequently used paths quickly became rivers of slush and mud.
Tasia and Mitch were able to repeat their filemu experiment and arrived at Granny’s home without mishap.
Patches of mud grew wherever the snow was thinnest as the day continued to warm up.
They still had one more week of autumn, and it seemed the weather was determined to embrace the last bit of heat.
No one could truly say that it was warm, but Tasia started unbundling some of her layers, as the exercise made the extra less necessary.
Mitch had taken on his wolf form some distance away from the cottage in order to sniff out anything—or, more importantly, anyone—who could hurt Tasia.
As she went to the front, he crept to the back, fully intending to rejoin her as soon as this last drop was made, certain that nothing of interest would happen.
Instead, he heard something on the far side of the cottage.
Crawling on his belly, he inched forward until he could poke his snout around the corner.
His nose identified the source of the sound first. Then his eyes spied a couple of men lurking in the trees.
The men seemed to be waiting for something.
Tasia’s cheerful goodbye must have been the cue, because they slowly moved out of the woods and approached Granny’s front door once she left.
The old woman scolded them for their lack of caution as she ordered them into the house.
The door shut with a firm click, and Mitch raced back to the other side of the house when he realized that anyone approaching from town could see him.
Huddling under a window, he strained his ears to make out the conversation over the sound of his racing heart.
“Shut up, Bagni,” Granny was saying. “There’s a reason you aren’t the brains of this operation. Dino sticks with me.”
Someone—Bagni, maybe?—responded, but Mitch couldn’t make out the words. Granny ignored whatever was said. “Tell your thugs to search for stragglers during the dance. You are to kill everyone you find. And you better be thorough.”
“Not a problem,” one of the men rasped.
“After killing the stragglers, you are to remain by the accelerant barrels until you can see the flames from the dance hall. Then you can light the barrels and join us at the rendezvous spot.”
“Sure you don’t need backup at the dance?” the same man asked.
A brief silence followed, then Granny said, “I’ve changed my mind. You, Bagni, will be with the men stationed in the cellar. Where I can keep an eye on you.”
“But that leaves only five guys to hunt down stragglers,” the rasper protested.
“You told me they were the best,” Granny answered coolly.
“They are!”
“Then it shouldn’t be a problem.” After a beat, she added, “Correct?”
“Correct, ma’am.” Bagni sounded completely cowed.
Apparently done with the men, the evil crone shooed them out. “Be off with you! I better not see you until after the dance. You are not going to ruin this for me by being stupid.”
“No, ma’am,” the men chorused, much louder now that they were on the front step.
Mitch eased backward, away from the front of the cottage. There was no reason to think the men would leave on this side, but he wouldn’t feel safe until he was in the woods.
To his great relief, the thugs returned to the trees on the town side of the cottage. He paused in the bushes closest to the window for the count of one hundred, then ghosted through the snow, careful to step in the most melted portions to camouflage his prints.
Tracking the red-cloaked beauty took longer than he initially expected.
The conversation between Granny and her thugs had delayed him somewhat, but he didn’t think Tasia had had time to get this lost. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that she didn’t know she was lost yet and was therefore still wandering.
This theory was strengthened when he came to a spot where she had looped around and crossed over both of their footprints quite recently.
The other prints were disappearing into the slush, but her newest ones were still crisp.
It was becoming apparent that Mitch needed to teach her some actual woodcraft.
Finally, he found her propped against a large rock, fiddling with her tiny knife. He gave a little yip to notify her of his presence.
“Oh, good! You’re late.” Tasia beamed at him. “That means you learned something.”
Mitch shifted into his human shape and confirmed the good, or rather, bad news. Tasia’s face grew grim as she listened to him recite the conversation he had overheard. He could practically see her conviction harden into place as she straightened her back and stood tall.
“Now we know more than we did. And we have one week to come up with a plan.”