12. CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 12
Noa
The walk to the Court District took twenty minutes. While the sidewalks were clear, the shoveled snow ended up in the street, and I stepped wide to miss the icy mounds. The bitingly cold air didn’t bother me, not after the cloying enchantments of the archive. Children laughed. A car engine revved—tires spinning on the ice. People rushed to finish shopping before the next storm hit. Even the scents of roasting meat from the fast-food franchise reminded me of the human world rather than a world filled with wolves, nymphs, witches, vampires. Magic.
Oddly enough, fewer humans lived in Westvale than had lived in Sentinel Falls, but the bohemian flavor drew the tourists who came for the colorful wall murals and the crafted candles and potted herbs. Lights glittered through windows, inviting people inside to get warm. Eat something. A few parked cars cluttered the plowed road through town. Small pedestrian groups crossed at the intersections—the teenage wolves and humans jostling, laughing, linking arms as if they had no care in the world except getting to where they were going.
Inside the Farmer’s Market, the mood was more boisterous. Voices echoed as men shouted back and forth. Under ordinary circumstances, I’d spend hours browsing through the stalls, admiring the home-grown produce, the jars of honey with hand-written labels. Checking out the gaily wrapped bakery items—cookies, pastries. Small cakes.
But despite the ambiance, nerves tingled beneath my skin. Every species in Westvale had their own agenda. Even with Anson’s wards, he had no control over who hid in the crowds. The roads were public. We lived in a human world unused to the concerns of the Others.
And my knowledge of witches was limited to the ones I’d met, most of whom were now dead. The woman with her booth in the Farmer’s Market could belong to the scattered Gemini coven. Feel vindictive, since their primary seers were dead and the cave collapsed into rubble. If she was also a seer, she’d know that I did it. She might pry into my past. See my future. Taste my emotions and use them against me.
The only saving grace was knowing she had no ability to read my thoughts.
Only pretend that she did.
Light faded through the greenhouse glass of the Farmer’s Market, a consequence of shortened winter days and storm clouds moving in again. Strings of overhead party lights worked to chase away the gloom.
With the witch’s booth hidden at the far end of the space, getting there meant pushing through cluttered aisles. I tried not to sneeze when the scent of floral candles turned thick, fighting against the spice-covered pinecones in an adjacent booth. Haggling conversations over prices blended with good-natured rivalries over the playoff games and which teams were going to dominate.
A boy wearing a slouched shirt bumped against me and said, “Want some fun?”
I peered at the baggie in his hand. “Are those brownies legal?”
The kid’s smile was sly. “Try them and find out.”
“I’d rather not have the headache,” I said sweetly. Sidestepped when he wouldn’t move.
His fingers snagged my coat. “I got other stuff.”
With a subtle hand flick, I let a spark fly in his direction. Smiled when he yelped.
The red-faced man who’d been sorting through mason jars filled with white liquor glared from behind his counter.
“Static electricity is wild right now,” I said brightly. “I’m zapping everything.”
The shop keeper scowled like the elders I’d met in Sentinel Falls. I gestured to the jars he was still touching.
“I might get some of that on my way out.”
For a moment, the man said nothing. Then his gaze skimmed past me and over the boy, who took that as his cue to disappear.
I shrugged and said breezily, “Kids. I was once that young.”
The shop keeper huffed and turned to another customer. I glanced around. Hanging in the booth across from the white liquor display were small gold cages. Birds chirped, their heads cocking, wings twitching with a mechanical rhythm. A nymph stood behind her counter, flowing red hair brushing her waist. The diaphanous gown reminded me of Aine’s gowns, as did the little birds in rainbow colors.
“You made these?”
The nymph gestured with long, graceful fingers. “You like?”
I bit my lip, swallowing back the delight. An image of Aine, with the orange, curly-winged bird in her hair, burst into my mind. These little birds, animated by a key and winding mechanism, were near replicas of the real thing. But underneath was the feather-brush of an enchantment—what really kept the birds chirping.
I should have expected it, since nymphs had more magic than they needed in a modern world; like the other species living in human spaces, they’d learned how to profit off their skills.
“I keep forgetting about nymphs.”
She arched a brow. “But you know Caerwen and Effa.”
“I meant about seeing them mingle in the human world,” I said with an irreverent smile. “And how they love to gossip. I didn’t think you’d know me.”
“We all know you.”
“And you don’t have trouble with the shrinking?”
She blinked, her black eyes glittering, and I forced a laugh. “Sorry, bad joke.”
Behind me, a dog yipped, streaking from beneath a table and overturning a basket; apples rolled in all directions. The dog chased a black-and-white cat who leapt through a second display. Shop keepers shouted, shooed, chasing the culprits as the melee bobbled over into a side aisle. It was too hard to tell who knocked over boxes and sent the rafter lights juddering.
The nymph laughed at my hand pressed against my throat. “You startle easily.”
“Too much caffeine.”
“Maybe you should try what that boy was selling.” She angled her head in the direction he’d disappeared. “Even you out when Caerwen isn’t around.”
“Do other nymphs live here?”
“River nymphs live in the Claw.”
“No more nixies?”
The nymph smiled tightly. “Not in centuries.” She gestured with her hand. “I’ve kept you from your purpose.”
I hadn’t intended to insult her, but she’d taken some offense. The heated air had grown uncomfortable. I pulled open my coat, checked to see if the drawing was still stuffed in my pocket. The crowd flowed and jostled, people pressing in, bumping like twigs in the stream. I was caught in the flow of bodies, jamming together, then breaking free.
Ahead of me was the witch’s booth. Her counter held a collection of bowls, baskets, and baubles meant to draw the eye. Makeshift walls held up the open rafters where sprigs of drying rosemary dangled beside pale garlic bulb ropes—was it a pointed mockery of vampires? Or just for show?
Burning sage stung my nose. The scent came from smoke, drifting in gray ribbons from glowing smudge sticks. The smoke reminded me of tendrils… seeking serpents. I made my hands relax. Ignored the need to back away.
The witch sat in a battered folding camp chair, one leg crossing the other, both hidden beneath a long flowy skirt in shades of red. Her blouse was black, showcasing the necklace around her throat made of knobby, whitish… bones? Her gaze sliced across the distance between us; unease riffled along my spine.
Silence fell. The woman was old enough for wrinkles and age spots, but her dark auburn hair was luxuriant and thick, long enough to pool at her waist. Her uncanny stillness reminded me of the Gemini Witches on their thrones. Her voice was unsettling. “You need something, girl?”
Jumbled in a woven basket were the wooden figurines I’d admired, and Angel had warned against. Beside them, crystals in a brass bowl caught shards of light.
The woman bent her fingers; she wore silver rings with tiny bells that jingled faintly.
“Maybe you want to know your fortune,” she offered. “What man will you marry, or when will wealth knock on your door. Most wolves are curious. Pry into everything. But you, girl… you aren’t like most wolves.”
I forced myself closer to her cluttered counter. Touched the wooden edge with my fingertips, needing to hold on while my pulse jerked. “I’m not wolf.”
“You think I don’t know that?” A knowing smile as the woman’s fingernails clicked against the chair arms. “I know what you are. Why your one-eyed friend knocked your hand away.”
The woman gestured toward the crude stick figures wrapped with red thread. “Don’t be so casual with those, girl. They’re powerful talismans against the Bone Woman. And she isn’t one you want to see when you have no wolf.”
“Why?” I dared ask.
“She’ll rip you apart, looking for wolf bones.”
I remained focused on the witch. “What other spells do you offer?”
“You want to kill someone? Or make him fall in love with you?” The witch picked up a smudge stick and blew on the glowing tip until smoke drifted in my direction. “Maybe it’s a woman you’re in love with. Whatever you like. I don’t judge. I see omens in the coffee grounds and tea leaves. I could trick you out of coins—but why bother when you don’t really believe?”
My hands twitched. “I believe you might know something.”
“That’s a risky belief, girl.”
“How much coin would it cost me?”
She laughed, a sound like clacking bones in the dark. “A gold coin, dropped in a collection box banded in iron.”
I shuddered, realizing she’d just introduced herself as someone I shouldn’t trust, one of the Gemini Witches.
“Where’s the rest of your coven?” I asked softly.
“Scattered. Nothing to go back to now.”
The desire to backtrack, disappear into the nearing dusk, galled me. Maybe Laura’s warning sank in more profoundly than I’d imagined, turning every shadow into a threat, every word into a temptation or a warning.
The witch heaved herself upright, the bone necklace juddering as if the bones were still alive.
“Maybe you’re the Bone Woman,” I said, holding her dark gaze.
“I’m a far cry from her.” She shuffled the tarot cards on her counter. “Let’s see what the cards say.”
Her fingers were nimble as she slapped the first card, face up. I’d never seen designs like those on her cards. “The night you came in here… you were hiding from the loss.”
I stared at the image of a veiled girl who seemed to stare back.
“The lament dredged up the guilt.” The witch snapped a second card from the deck… a woman weeping.
“Friends said it wasn’t your fault, but you knew they didn’t believe it.”
A third card. A third female face, turned away.
“And only a fool sees a kitten when a lion enters the village.”
Her fingers clawed the edge of a fourth card before she flipped it over. I stared at the image; a lion stared back. A kitten nestled between its paws.
I refused to let my voice waver. “Someone else said that to me.”
“Did he, now?”
The old woman gathered up her cards, resettled the deck; the belled rings on her long fingers clanged with a soft, discordant sound.
I moistened my lips. “If you’re a seer, then you know why I’m here.”
“I know.” Her glance skimmed the milling crowds. “What else I know is the downside to vampires cutting those runes of yours. They marked you, girl. And now… it’s like tracking a straying dog.”
Something Grayson would have sensed, if it was true—and if he’d been at full strength, not nearly destroyed by the all the killing. This witch wasn’t an ally, not if she belonged to the Gemini coven. But she also used people and opportunities. And I hadn’t forgotten the rules of the game.
“If I’m being tracked, then I don’t have much time.”
Her gaze turned shrewd. “You have something to show me?”
I tugged the folded paper from my pocket, slapped it down on her counter, but kept my palm on top like a weight when she reached. “How much will it cost me?”
She pursed her lips, wrinkles creasing as she stared at the folded paper and the image she couldn’t see with my palm in the way. “No answers in the alpha’s fancy archive? I’ve heard it’s extensive.”
“I’ve heard covens keep records for centuries. Records different from what the wolves find interesting.”
She scowled. “Do I look like a walking archive to you?”
“You look like someone who wants revenge for her coven. For the two women tied to their thrones, who were dead long before I got there.” I tapped a finger against the folded paper. “We fight the same enemy.”
“You fight. I want none of it.”
“You’d rather read cards and tea leaves to non-believers in a flea market?” I threw her words back at her, hit the mark.
The witch arched an eyebrow. “Is it answers you want, girl? Or justification?” She pointed at the folded paper. “Move your hand and back away.”
My turn to arch an eyebrow. “I won’t touch you. Syphon from you, if that’s the concern.”
“Not why I asked.” She sorted through the crystals, pulling a clear stone from the depths. Set it down on the paper beside my palm.
The feathery brush of spiders scampered over my skin, and I jerked my hand back.
The witch smirked, then frowned as the crystal turned gray, darkening to a murky black.
“Whatever that is,” she said, “you don’t want to know.”
My skin dampened. “What does your crystal say it is?”
“Old magic. Leave it, girl.”
“I can’t leave it.” Everything inside me felt dazed. “The person who destroyed your coven was obsessed with this image. I need to know what it means.”
But the seer was stroking the bone necklace at her throat, stroking the white shards, muttering…
Her eyes were unfocused, drawn to something in the distance.
I leaned forward. “What do you see?”
The witch’s gaze remained on the glass ceiling. “The information you want is costly, girl.”
“How costly?”
“How much is your life worth?” Her witchy eyes burned with a dark fire. “But it won’t matter. You’ll pay any price, and that price will eat at you. Gnaw on your bones at midnight like rats in the dark.” Her lips pulled back. “You’ll crave the good you could do. Reach for the power without seeing the abyss. How far will you fall into the endless dark, before it’s done?”
The words came with the cadence of prophecy, but if she was talking about Barend’s offer, she was a month too late. I’d already rejected it.
The disappointment shouldn’t have nagged so heavily at me, and I asked, “Are you speaking as a seer, now? Or as someone with nothing to sell?”
Tension rippled. The air seemed to expand, then contract into normal. With the smudge stick, the witch knocked the blackened crystal from the paper, and every rational thought I had vibrated into nothing when the stone crumbled into ash.
A breeze scattered the ashes like the remains of the dead. The gritty powder caught on my lips. My stomach lurched. I scrubbed at my mouth, scrubbed again, waiting for the pulse throbbing in my throat to ease. The taste of bitter ashes…
She’s a seer, Noa.
She would know what haunted me, and what I’d witnessed wasn’t anything more than a cunning, witchy trick designed to torment me. Turn me away from the search.
For all I knew, she’d used the bones from last week’s chicken dinner to fashion her necklace, the same way she’d created the little effigies of the Bone Woman. Twigs like bones, tied together. Designed to trigger the imagination, the old stories, with the right words and faked reactions.
As meaningless as the buzzing pressure in my head, the likely result of burning certain herbs hidden in the smudge stick. Hadn’t she deliberately waved the smoke in my direction? And I’d breathed it in, whatever drug it was—known only to a sorceress, what all Gemini Witches were.
Needing to do something rational, something to dampen the heat building in my hands, I reclaimed the drawing, stuffed it into my pocket.
“I can find others who might know.” Effa, or Caerwen. “But the enemy I’m fighting drew this pattern, scribbled it in a journal. The marks are strange, and…”
“Speak no more, girl.”
The witch’s face had paled, but her eyes glittered like obsidian glass, blacker than night and wholly unnerving. As if she was seeing some outcome I couldn’t see.
“Liminal spaces hide between worlds,” she said. “What you seek exists there.”
I braced. “How can I get to this liminal space?”
“Getting there is easy. Getting out is hard.” She stubbed out the smoldering smudge stick, and as she turned to gather the crystals, her colorful skirts swished like Aine’s gown. When her fingers curled around the stones, the gesture was the nymph’s gesture, that vicious crushing of petals before they fell to the ground.
“Better get going, girl. The world is stirring tonight.”
The world is stirring…
The words were hard to shake off. In my pocket, the folded image became a weight I didn’t want. I’d failed in this one task, and the desire to scream in frustration became a knot in my throat. I needed the answers that taunted beyond my reach. But this witch hadn’t offered answers. Not with those tarot cards she manipulated, a mere card trick. Everything else could have been my imagination, mixing with the dodgy magic. My faille sense might be misfiring, and it was possible that I hadn’t fully recovered after nearly burning out.
I frowned over how easily the excuses flowed through my mind. But I couldn’t help Grayson without learning the meaning of that rune. Worse, I couldn’t face a witch from the Gemini coven without feeling the blame for destroying their cave. Was this more of my recklessness, backfiring every time I tried to help? Laura’s words. My fault…
Voices and clatters distracted me; I glanced around. Somehow, I’d lost track of time. The witch was gone, leaving only the battered folding chair behind. The ropes of garlic and the spikes of rosemary—the herb of memory and nostalgia.
A body bumped into me; the man offered a muffled apology before hurrying away. Across the space, an overhead light swayed, casting wild shadows. The Farmer’s Market closed in with pressure I wasn’t entirely sure came from the crowds, all jostling toward the open doors.
Anxiety seeped through raised voices as if people weren’t sure what to do. Bodies thumped and shoved. I kept pace with the flow, letting the mob take me out into the night where the cool air was clarifying. I needed to think, put what I’d learned into perspective, everything from vampires tracking me through ruined runes to the crystal turning into ash—the same bitter ash I’d always tasted around Amal’s creatures. Was the witch connected to Amal in some way? Like the vampires who sided with her?
But the concerns around me were more immediate. My footsteps faltered as whispered conversations caught my attention.
“We should go inside,” a worried female said, gripping the arm of her blonde companion.
“We should go look.”
The blonde tugged her friend along the sidewalk. Around me, the groups from the Farmer’s Market thinned. Couples walked toward the housing districts. The single men and women turned toward the docks, where the clubs would be wild and noisy. The central Court District was brightly lit against the settling dark, and another press of people edged the street.
The parked car had all four doors open and the beeping from the alarm system was annoying. The headlights were on, illuminating the snow dirtied by all the footprints. Color came from the yellow tape marking a perimeter. Security teams talked between themselves as they worked the scene. A female technician swabbed blood from the car’s bumper. Another collected debris from the metalwork, using tweezers, chatting as he put the samples in small capped bottles.
Two lanky teenagers stood on the sidewalk. One had his arms crossed as he rocked side to side. The other was answering questions. He raked a hand through his brown hair. Dragged his palm to cover his mouth.
“Were you speeding? Drinking? Drugs?” The uniformed officer’s jaded tone meant he’d asked similar questions a thousand times.
“No.” The boy who answered was probably the driver; his knee jerked every time he shifted his weight. “We borrowed the car from my parents. They’ll kill me.”
“As in borrowed without asking?”
“Look, we were keeping to the limit and that… thing… jumped in front of the car.”
A snicker rippled before a few people turned away. The blonde was standing on her toes, craning around to get a better view. Her friend had her arms wrapped tight to her waist. I picked up on a foul scent in the air. Nearly jolted when Hattie bumped my arm.
“Noa—did you hear?” Her voice wavered. “They hit something on the road outside of Westvale. A starving wolf, but twice the normal size. Ribs caved in, legs oddly long. Strange in the headlights. They drove right over it and kept going until they got here and called for help.”
“It could have been anything,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure why I was keeping my voice low, other than the wolves didn’t need more agitation.
“The technicians were talking.” Hattie leaned in and whispered, “It isn’t normal—what they’re finding. The strange blood and fur. What if it’s hybrids, moving this far south? Shouldn’t we get inside?”
“I’ll walk you home, Hattie.” I glanced at her grocery bags; she gripped the woven handles hard enough to turn her knuckles white, probably from the weight of canned goods and fresh produce.
I took one bag from her. “Where’s Oscar?”
“Watching some game show on television. Noa—” She studied my face. “Maybe you should stay.”
She meant until morning, daylight. But the drawing in my back pocket felt more important. I wanted to go home, see if the nymphs were back from their visit with Aine. The walk to the Ironstone District was short, with a quick turnaround to Anson’s compound, and if anyone beyond failles could sense danger, wolves could. They cluttered the street, enjoying the usual nightlife, while I sensed nothing more than Hattie’s apprehension. After what she’d been through, I didn’t blame her for feeling alarmed. The attacks from Amal’s shock troops had come out of nowhere, ripping apart normal days. Was it any surprise now that Hattie’s trust did not survive?
I put an arm around her. “Let’s get you home,” I said, avoiding the argument. “Westvale has rings of wards and enchantments. If hybrids were near, believe me, that security team wouldn’t be kicking tires and asking about the speed.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I don’t feel any threat,” I offered to reassure her. But I glanced over my shoulder as I walked Hattie home. Her apartment was small, tidy with comfortable furniture, and after promises of more time together, I made my way back outside. Arms crossed against the cold, head down, I huddled in my coat and ignored the damp hint of snow. If I hurried, I’d be in my apartment before the storm hit. I’d be warm, see if the nymphs had returned. Check in with Laura.
The mental list ran through my head until I reached the Dock District with its neon and thumping music, the noisy crowds, where the urge to look up overwhelmed me.
And as I focused on one face out of the many… agitation became a flash-freeze against my skin.