Page 22 of Fae Devoted (Fae Touched #3)

“My friend from home has a brother who was recently outcast and hasn’t contacted his family since the banishment.

I was coming this way on my search anyway, so I offered to ask around while I was here.

” Johnnie stuck her red purse beneath her arm, remembered Jacob was listening, and re-situated it to rest on her hip again.

“He left without saying goodbye, and everyone’s worried. ” Also true.

“And this outcast came to the ENC seeking an Alpha’s bond?” DuPont leaped to the obvious conclusion.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. We, um he, my friend that is, got a call his brother was last seen in Detroit.

” Damn, she was messing this up. “He hasn’t been an outcast long enough to turn feral or anything, but if I could talk to him and confirm he’s doing okay, it’d be a tremendous comfort to his family. ”

“We’ll help if we can,” Olivia said kindly. “What’s the outcast’s name?”

Here we go.

“Jeremiah Grayson.” She said the name quietly, although the consort was correct. If any vampires in the room wanted to hear what Johnnie had to say, she couldn’t stop them. But Jeremiah wasn’t the name she needed to keep concealed. “He’s a tall, heavily muscled male with shaggy dark hair and—”

“A scar on his face.” DuPont rubbed his bottom lip.

Olivia shivered, her face flushed pink and then drained of all color as if the witch had seen a ghost—or someone walked over her grave.

DuPont removed the empty flute from his consort’s limp grip and tossed the fine crystal onto the closest couch. “Olivia?”

“I’m activating a privacy ward,” she said, her voice hollow but determined. “Johnnie, come closer and give me your hand.”

“Um…okay.” Would the phone function within the confines of a ward? More importantly, would Jacob stay put when Johnnie went radio silent?

Gluing her clutch to her side, she cast a wary glance over her shoulder and wiped her palm down her thigh before allowing the consort to draw her closer.

“Don’t let go, or it’ll break the spell,” Olivia explained as the spiral tip of the tattoo showing above the modest décolletage of her dress kindled, igniting a soft milky glimmer as white as her complexion.

“I understand. Don’t worry about me.” She made the comment for Jacob’s sake more than the witch’s.

Anwyll magic coiled around Johnnie’s body like a blanket of cool silk, the sensation a textural contrast to the cashmere warmth she felt during a male Ferwyn’s conversion.

The smell of black licorice suffused the air, the pleasant vanilla notes of a witch’s everyday fragrance evolving to candied anise upon the activation of a spell.

Johnnie wrinkled her nose; the odor reminded her of cough syrup.

“It’s up.” The triggered rune’s brilliance set Olivia’s entire throat and the golden torc embossed with the DuPont’s House symbol on her neck aglow.

Patriarch DuPont positioned himself so his curious guests couldn’t read his lips, his trembling consort still tucked beneath his arm. “Jeremiah Grayson, former Alpha of the WSC’s Grayson Pack, visited the Rivière Casino two days ago.”

“You spoke with him? Is he still here? Did he stay at your hotel or maybe with someone local? Do you remember if Jeremiah mentioned a name or where they lived? Did he say he was leaving soon or indicate a particular pack he wanted to join?” Johnnie took a breath and relaxed her grip, realizing she was squeezing Olivia’s fingers.

They were ice-cold, and the witch looked seconds away from fainting. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said and laid her head on DuPont’s shoulder, belying the weak assertion.

“Yes, I had a brief discussion with him, and no, he didn’t stay at the Rivière,” DuPont said, distracted. His focus on his consort. “The outcast was alone and didn’t mention a future destination.”

“I don’t understand. If you can’t help me find Jeremiah, then why put up the privacy ward?” The patriarch knew something—or his consort did.

Olivia’s slack hold on her switched to a vise, the tattoo on her chest blazing like white fire. “Tell her, Julien.”

“Are you sure, ma coeur ? I’ve got my people investigating.”

“I think she needs to know. No, I know she does. I have this feeling,” Olivia trailed off.

Johnnie’s heart rate accelerated, and her breathing followed suit.

Witches weren’t clairvoyant. They didn’t speak prophecy or predict the future.

But what the entirety of the Anwyll population did have, in varying magical degrees, was acute intuition.

A type of extrasensory perception they’d learned generations ago wasn’t wise to ignore.

And for whatever reason, Johnnie pinged Olivia’s Spidey senses.

“Grayson was here, but he wasn’t looking for an Alpha.” DuPont brushed his fingertips over Olivia’s cheek as though his touch could lure back the healthy tint. “He came to me about a missing child from the WSC region. A child he promised to find.”

“A pup? Whose?” Not Jeremiah’s?

“Not a Ferwyn pup, but an Anwyll around eight years old,” Olivia said, sounding steadier.

“Grayson claimed the child, Charlotte Miller, was abducted from her home several months ago. The same day her mother was murdered.” DuPont retained his proprietary hold on her waist as his consort pushed upright, preserving the privacy ward.

“He believed she was brought to Michigan and asked if I knew her current location.”

“Did you hurt him?” Johnnie stared at the Dádhe patriarch, feeling the hot prick of tears. If Jeremiah accused DuPont of playing a part in the kidnapping and murder of witches, he might already be dead.

“No, I swear he left the Rivière unharmed,” Olivia said, expression sincere.

Johnnie closed her eyes, exhaling a relieved breath before opening them once again. “Why would Jeremiah assume you had knowledge of an abducted young witch, patriarch?”

“Not a young witch, but an untrained witchling several years from her first Inscription.” Olivia found it necessary to emphasize.

Johnnie wondered how the initial tattoo Anwyll children received at the onset of puberty made any difference in the child’s tragic story but remained silent as she waited for DuPont to answer.

“The same reason you came to me asking about your friend’s brother,” he said, displaying a hint of fang. “It’s my business to know everything that’s going on in my region, my city, and my casino. And if I don’t, I make it a personal mission to find out.”

He knows about Jacob. Shit.

Her legs wobbled, and Johnnie had to lock her knees or fall flat on her face. “But you don’t know where the witchling is, do you?” she asked, faking a calm she certainly didn’t feel.

“No, we don’t.” Red seeped into the patriarch’s once coal-black pupils, the smells of mud and wet peat a telling sign of his anger and frustration.

The touch of vampire magic on Johnnie’s flesh chilled her to the bone, and she almost took an instinctive step away before stopping herself. “You said your people are investigating, so what did you tell Jeremiah?”

“About a week ago, Mater Russo from my Traverse City branch reported that a witchling fitting the description of the missing girl and an Untouched woman were spotted at a local park under her jurisdiction.”

“What makes the DuPont House mater think it was Charlotte? It’s not as if it’s unusual for humans to marry witches and produce Anwyll children.

” Johnnie tapped her purse against her thigh, forgetting for a moment about Jacob and the speakerphone.

“I don’t understand why a mother and daughter enjoying the fall weather is significant enough for her to inform the region’s patriarch. ”

“Because,” Olivia said. “The witchling set the playground on fire.”