You know we’ve just had a bad time when we ride all the way home in silence. Not even Bo had a sarcastic remark this time.
The good thing was that, with Gillian incapacitated and the witches banished to who knew where, my home was probably safe. At least I hoped it was, because I needed to return.
I tried not to think too hard about the little vial of aconite as I downed it. The dose was the equivalent of a shot. It tasted exactly what I expected forbidden poison to taste like—intensely chemical, like it was synthesized in a lab somewhere. The chemical taste mixed with ground-up flowers that reminded me of a meadow at sunset, a hint of ginger and dirt, followed by a syrupy black licorice finish. A few seconds later, a small wave of fire erupted down my throat. My lips went metallic and I wanted to cough up the liquid.
A block later, the fire subsided. Aside from the metallic aftertaste mixed with a bit of licorice, I felt as if I had never taken it. Heaven help me whenever whatever the hell was coming came. I trusted Joyner, but if he was right, my night was about to get miserable.
My thoughts traveled back to the shadowcraft incident. I couldn’t shake that Cassandra knew something that could help me. I couldn’t get her face out of my mind’s eye, how angry and terrified her eyes were. The way she came at me in the spice shop, she had nothing to lose.
We turned into my alley and Bo tried to roll his window up. It stuck for a moment, then rolled up a centimeter at a time.
“Now this just ain’t right,” Bo said. “This damn coupe don’t even have working windows.”
The window finally sealed and Bo pursed his lips. “Add another paragraph to my grievances about this car.”
“Maybe you need a horse and buggy,” CeCe said. “See how you do with those.”
“That’s enough about this car,” I said. “I don’t like it either, but it beats the bus.”
“Barely,” Bo said.
Cassandra’s face came back to my mind’s eye as Bo pulled into my detached garage.
Something the witches said kept playing in my mind.
“What’s a fated mate?” I asked.
“Fated what?”
“Mate,” I said.
“Gotcha,” Bo said. He cut the engine. “Must be like a friend who you’re meant to be friends with forever.”
“A friend?” CeCe asked.
“Isn’t that what they call friends in England?” Bo asked.
I stared at Bo, incredulous. “Are we in England?”
He scratched his head. “Then what do YOU think since you don’t like my answer?”
“I think the witches meant that Gillian and Cassandra were soulmates,” CeCe said as I helped her out of the car.
“Now that’s an answer I can live with,” I said.
I stood in front of my tool rack. A giant pegboard with every kind of tool you could imagine. That was the benefit of being handy.
I surveyed my universe of tools and grabbed a propane torch and a hand ax.
“So the two wolves are lovers,” Bo said. “Mmm mmm mmm. Freaky as hell. One minute you’re holding hands, and the next you’re howling at the moon in a forest somewhere.”
“So poetic,” CeCe said.
“Put me in a coupe that doesn’t work, get me fired up, and you have the black Keats,” Bo said. “And I can’t wait to sing an ode to this piece of junk. What’s the torch for, boss man?”
“The dill,” I said, frowning.
“That’s a lot of horsepower,” CeCe said. “Why not use, I don’t know, a lighter?”
“What about the ax?” Bo asked.
“It’s for,” I said. My lips tingled and my vision narrowed. The ax in my hand doubled and circled around.
“For what?” Bo asked.
CeCe tapped me on the shoulder. “Lester, are you okay?”
Her face hovered around my vision too but quickly snapped into place when she grabbed my shoulders gently.
“The poison’s working, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Shit,” I said. I swayed in place. I slapped my face gently to keep myself oriented.
“We gotcha covered, boss man,” Bo said, taking the torch and ax. He popped the trunk and threw them inside. “I’ll brew you some hot water and lemon. Maybe that’ll help counteract some of the effects.”
My backyard was a little brighter than I expected. The trees wobbled in high-definition; their branches cut dark streams in the star-speckled navy sky. The edges of my house blurred a little, and the lamps on my back porch blazed in and out of focus. I found it ever slightly harder to pick up my feet as I walked, like I was buzzed from a strong drink and aware of every moment of it. I heard every bit of gravel and dirt I stepped on. I slowed my breathing, took in deeper breaths.
Inhale.
Bo said something. “Don’t let me forget to grab…”
“Yeah,” I said.
Exhale.
“Lester, you need to sit down,” CeCe said.
“Yeah,” I said.
Inhale. Step. Step.
Click. Bo unlocked my back door.
Exhale.
My dog, Hazel, jumped up on me and I nuzzled her, feeling her soft, bushy black and tan hair. Her nose sniffed me. It was wet.
Inhale.
We were in my kitchen. Bo slapped my tea kettle on the stove.
Exhale.
I was sitting down, sipping a cup of warm water, staring at a lemon wedge floating inside.
Rrrrrrring!
My doorbell rang, making us all jump. The sound jolted me out of the spell and sent Hazel tearing down the hall barking.
Someone banged on my door.
Bo glanced at me, concerned. Seconds later, he had the pistol from the kitchen drawer and was stalking down the hallway toward the front door.
“Who is it?” he asked. Whoever was on the other side, Bo must not have recognized them in the peephole.
The person said something. It was a man. Gruff voice.
“Who?” Bo asked.
Another familiar voice replied. “Open the door already, dead man, or I’m going to get very angry.”
Natkaal.
I pushed the mug of hot water aside and stumbled through my dark foyer, CeCe behind me. My hallway went sideways, but I stayed upright. Somehow, I knew I wouldn’t fall if she was behind me.
I grabbed Hazel by the collar and held her back. My sweet pea strained against me.
Bo unlocked the door. A man in an untucked gray shirt stood on my porch. He had cold brown eyes and a wizened face with crow’s feet and a scowl that looked like he’d never smiled a day in his life. Messy black hair hung down to his shoulders. He had a leather bag that reminded me of a traveling doctor’s medical bag. I disliked him on sight.
“I’ve got things to do,” he said. “Can we get this over already?”
Natkaal crawled down from the porch ceiling and pushed Bo aside as he entered.
“I told you to protect yourself, not go on vacation,” he said, turning up his head.
“Can I get started?” the man asked, irritated.
“Started with what?” I asked, imitating his tone. The man puffed.
“Never mind him,” Natkaal said to the man. “Begin your work.”
I felt my blood pressure rising.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked.
“Quiet,” Natkaal said. “You may not like him, but you’ll like his results.”
“Before we talk about results, how about we talk about who he is, what he is doing, and why the hell you told him to do something to my house without my permission,” I said.
“Shut up,” Natkaal whispered. “Do you have any idea how many favors I called in to get a warlock to your home on such short notice?”
I repeated the words. “Warlock…”
I had to sit down on my steps.
“He installed wards in all of your exterior windows and doors, but he can’t activate them without your permission,” Natkaal said.
“Wards?” I asked.
“If there’s anything I learned after spending time on your property, it’s that you have no protection,” Natkaal said. “Warlock-grade wards will ensure that your home is a fortress from now on.”
“You’re charitable all of a sudden,” CeCe said. She was sitting on the stairs with me, back to her normal figure. Her red dress flowed down the steps.
Natkaal snorted. “This is my apology for the pre-emptive attack. No strings attached, necromancer. Accept it or insult me.”
Natkaal had no reason to lie.
Oh boy. With warlock-grade wards and my undead spiders, this place would be Fort Knox. I wasn’t upset about that.
“All right, apology accepted,” I said.
“Give him your verbal consent to install the wards and he’ll be on his way,” Natkaal said.
“I give you my verbal consent,” I said.
“About damn time,” the warlock said. He pulled a parchment scroll out of his leather bag and walked down the porch into my front yard.
“Yo, boss man, why didn’t your spiders pick up on that guy?” Bo asked. He stood by the radiator, arms folded.
“He sensed your spiders from several blocks away,” Natkaal said. “He armed himself with a cloaking spell. And they know me…”
I definitely needed a security system upgrade. I just wished I had had this when my grandson was here.
I took a deep breath and focused on breathing. My stomach churned like it was on the waves of a furious ocean.
“What happened to you?” Natkaal asked. “You don’t seem your usual snappy self, necromancer.”
Bo told him what happened at Soulard. Natkaal’s face turned from frown to scorn.
“Those shadowcrafters are going to wish they had never crossed me,” he growled.
“So what now?” I asked. “You’re the boss.”
Natkaal crawled up the wall and rested over the pocket door to my living room.
“Those wolves are our in-road to the coven,” Natkaal said. “The witches hide behind scapegoats. If we destroy the wolves, then we will expose them.”
“I’m not killing for you, remember?” I said.
Natkaal grinned his mischievous sawtooth grin. “You won’t be killing any wolf. But if there’s poison in your blood and they try to kill you—”
“I took the poison in self-defense,” I said.
“Exactly,” Natkaal said. “Therefore, you cannot refuse my demand because I am not asking you to kill them. Don’t you love loopholes that benefit both parties?”
He let out his whinnied laugh. “We’ll bait the pups and it will be glorious.”
“Fine,” I said. “We’ll do it your way, Natkaal.”
“I love the sound of that,” Natkaal said. “Say it again…”
I said it again.
Okay, I was lying.
The good thing about Bo telling Natkaal the story of the shadowcrafters and the wolf attack was that he forgot to mention that I saved Gillian’s life.
If we found the wolves, I hoped I might be able to get through to Cassandra, especially if Gillian recovered. Natkaal was right that she was our in-road to the coven. The grasshopper was a little too scheming and blood-thirsty right now. But if my instinct was right, it would be…a loophole that would benefit both parties.
Two can play the blank check game.
“Your next instruction is to identify the location of the canines,” Natkaal said.
“And what do you suggest, O great knowing one?” Bo asked.
Natkaal grinned so devilishly that there might as well have been flames in his eyes. “What other method could there be? Necromancy, of course.”