Page 12 of A Skirl of Sorcery (The Cat Lady Chronicles #3)

Chapter

Eleven

Iavoided the tram. Word on the street was the tram witches and the dryads had grown particularly close in recent months and in the unlikely event that my theft was noticed, I didn’t want anyone to be able to track my movements.

It was rare for anyone who wasn’t a dryad or a dignitary from another of the main Preternatural groups to travel to the groves, especially at this time of night.

Going there on foot was by far the most sensible option, even if I wasn’t as fit or as fast as I used to be.

I offered He Who Roams Wide the option of perching on my shoulder like Tiddles had done but he refused with a derisive sniff.

‘Very well,’ I told him. ‘But we have to move fast. We can’t spare any time sniffing interesting patches of darkness or investigating random sounds.

’ He blinked once: that was the most I would get from him.

I set off at a steady jog. Fortunately my sleek black cat heeded my words and didn’t dally, even when a plump rat with far more bravado than sense crossed the street a few metres in front of us.

We moved fast, and little more than an hour later the dark perimeter of the first grove came into sight. There were still thirty-nine minutes until midnight. Go me.

‘I’ve still got it,’ I whispered to the cat. ‘I’m still good at this.’

If he heard me, he didn’t react. I’d have to save any further boasting for She Who Loves Sunbeams; she’d be far more appreciative of my accomplishment.

I wasn’t foolish enough to stroll through the main gates of the grove; the dryads would be wary of any unknown creatures, human or cat, passing that way.

I could already see a large group of them at the entrance keeping an eye out for roaming werewolves.

Although that entrance would be lined with wolfsbane, there wasn’t enough of it in the country to ring such a vast grove on a monthly basis.

The dryads, like most other big estate owners, relied on manned security during the full moon.

They’d be alert and ready for anything and I knew I had to avoid them.

I beckoned to the cat and we skirted the high wooden fence until we reached a quieter corner where a towering oak tree was standing helpfully outside the perimeter. He Who Roams Wide emitted a questioning chirrup and I nodded; it was perfect, especially with those high, overhanging branches.

‘Twenty minutes,’ I said quietly. ‘I don’t want to spend any more time than necessary in the grove. We’ll wait out here until the right moment.’

I pressed my spine against the trunk of the old oak where the shadows were deepest; it would take very keen eyes to spot me. I shivered slightly, though not from the cold, while the cat at my feet pawed at a section of the ground with vague disinterest.

He stopped and drew closer to my feet when the night air was suddenly filled with the sound of approaching howls.

He Who Roams Wide was both brave and adventurous but he was cautious when large groups of marauding werewolves were involved.

One wolf on its own wasn’t too dangerous, but they tended to move in packs when the moon was full and pack mentality was never a good thing even at the best of times.

The first werewolf to appear was a brash young mutt, little more than a teenager, but he slunk out from the buildings on the other side of the grove with the puffed-up arrogance that only the full moon could provide.

I didn’t know which pack this kid was from, or why he’d separated from other elder and more experienced members of his extended family.

I didn’t particularly care as long as he kept out of my way.

His coat was silver and it was shining brightly despite the darkness, making him more visible than he realised.

When his buddies appeared, I saw why he was so confident: six werewolves were trailing him with lolling tongues and bright eyes, knocking into each other, giddy from their transformation.

They stopped behind the youngster and simultaneously raised their heads and howled to the glowing round moon that was barely visible behind the clouds.

Shit: seven werewolves spoiling for a fight was the last thing I needed. They weren’t trying to hide and they were less than fifty metres from my oak tree; there was no chance that the dryads on guard at the main gate wouldn’t be drawn towards them.

If I left the relative safety of the oak tree, somebody would see me. I silently cursed the pack alpha who had allowed these idiots to roam unchecked; at least three of them looked old enough to know far better.

It was a small number of dickish wolves that forced the majority of Coldstream’s residents to hunker down indoors during the official full moon nights.

Werewolves could generally control their baser urges regardless of the time of the month, but the inclination of less-disciplined wolves to whoop, holler and occasionally riot their way through the city’s streets could be off-putting.

Usually they grew out of such behaviour; more mature werewolves simply enjoyed a night of furry transformation and the freedom to run.

But there were exceptions to every rule.

It didn’t take long for the dryads to appear, seven suited-and-booted figures striding down the street towards the howling wolves, one dryad for each werewolf.

Grove security knew what they were doing: any more would be seen by the wolves as an act of aggression, any less and the dryads might be viewed as weak.

I didn’t have to check their expressions or read their minds to know that the dryads would want to move the wolves on without any bloodshed.

I double-checked the time, hoping this matter would be dealt with swiftly because I couldn’t afford a delay.

That alder bark had to be stripped at midnight exactly if it was to be of any help to Keres.

My plan was to enter the grove in cat form, but both groups would notice me swallowing a clump of fur from He Who Roams Wide and effecting my painful transformation so I needed them to leave as soon as possible.

The tallest dryad pulled slightly ahead and stopped. One by one, the werewolves ceased their howling and glanced in his direction. I noted with a sinking heart that the youngest wolf, who’d been leading the way, was baring his teeth. He was hoping for a fight.

The lead dryad didn’t smile, but when he spoke his tone was pleasant. ‘Good evening.’

A small female werewolf lunged towards him and snapped at the air. It was little more than a warning shot and the dryad didn’t flinch. He was far more experienced with this sort of confrontation than most of the werewolves who were now growling at him.

His voice rang through the night. ‘This is not a suitable place for you to be. I strongly suggest you turn and leave.’

The female werewolf lunged again and drew closer; she was growing bolder and so were her buddies.

The silver wolf was pawing at the ground, snarling more loudly; even from my concealed position by the oak tree, I could see that his hackles were raised.

If young Silver had been a feral cat I’d already have been backing away, but the dryad had to hold his ground.

Although the three older werewolves were making no move to draw their compatriots away, they were smart enough to hold back and watch rather than try any moves of their own.

It was difficult to tell from this angle but at least one of them seemed to have old battle scars and that didn’t bode well.

The younger wolves would likely covet similar badges of honour.

One of the skinnier werewolves padded forward and circled around the cluster of dryads. He was joined by another, then another, until the three wolves were parading around the dryads in ever-decreasing circles. A knot of tension tightened in my belly.

Then I saw one of the younger dryads reach into the folds of her robe and turn her head towards her companions with a questioning glance. They nodded. Something was about to go down.

‘You must leave now,’ the tall dryad said calmly, though now it was an order rather than a suggestion.

Silver responded with a snarl and the circling werewolves joined in.

The three older werewolves stalked towards the dryads, their heads lowered not in an act of submission but as a prelude to aggression.

I held my breath. Perhaps that would have been a good time to grab He Who Roams Wide and get out of there, but if I ran I’d be labelled as prey by the werewolves and as a security threat by the dryads.

I checked the time again. There wasn’t long to go until midnight. Make this quick, I prayed silently. Please.

A second later, it was as if the dryads had heard me.

When the young dryad pulled her hand out of her pocket, she was holding a small linen pouch.

I scooped up He Who Roams Wide, who had the sense not to protest, covered his face with one hand and squeezed my eyes shut.

A beat later there was a bright, white flash of light that pierced my eyelids, and the night sky was rent with anguished howls.

It was the magical equivalent of a military-grade flash bang, although this particular version was soundless – all flash and no bang. The dryads didn’t need noise because the searing light incapacitated all seven werewolves.

When I opened one eye to peek, it was clear that even the three more experienced werewolves had been taken unawares: two of them had collapsed.

Silver was swaying off-balance, barely managing to stay on all four paws, and the three who’d been circling the dryads were crawling away on their bellies. It was over as quickly as it had begun.

The older dryad raised his voice. ‘This is your final warning. Leave this place and do not return or there will be consequences.’

He might not have regained his sight yet, but Silver wasn’t in the mood for backing down.

He growled, a rumbling sound that grew in intensity.

His nearest companion whined while the one of the older werewolves who’d stayed upright slunk forward and nudged Silver’s flank.

The meaning was clear: Not tonight. We’ve been outsmarted and we have to go.

One by one, they picked themselves up and returned in the direction from which they’d come.

Eventually only Silver remained. He shook out his fur and snarled one last time then, in a last-ditch effort, lifted his head and howled.

This time his companions didn’t answer. His broad shoulders dropped and he turned and padded away, his tail between his legs.

I smiled. I hadn’t doubted the dryads’ capabilities but I was impressed they’d dispatched the werewolves so quickly.

The young dryad who’d thrown the magical concoction was beaming. ‘That was brilliant – it worked even better than you said it would! Those bastards will know better than to come back here again.’ She pumped the air with her clenched fists and performed a triumphant pirouette.

‘Don’t get too excited,’ one of the others said drily. ‘That young silver wolf will doubtless return next month.’

Her face fell. ‘But we defeated him!’

‘That’s why he’ll be back. He was humiliated and he didn’t strike me as the sort of werewolf who appreciates that.’ The dryad was right: Silver was trouble. He clearly had a chip on his shoulder and a lot to prove.

‘We’ll double the patrols next month and change our defensive spells. That blinding trick won’t work a second time.’ The older dryad didn’t sound afraid; he was merely considering his next move. I suspected it would be a long, long time – if ever – before Silver gained the upper hand.

I crouched down and released He Who Roams Wide then watched while the dryads turn back to their posts by the main gate.