Page 6 of His Whispered Witch (Witches and Shifters: Scott Pack #6)

She opened the door at the top of the stairs into a tiny square room with pale green walls.

The far wall was covered in cabinets for the various practitioners, and a massage table was tilted up and shoved against the left wall.

Penn took one of two chairs along the right.

A tiny desk covered in yoga mats next to the door completed the room, though how anyone ever did an exercise class in here was beyond her.

It was comfortable for one-on-one chats and not much else.

She offered him the other chair, and he sat with both feet on the floor, his knees far above his hips. He was taller than he seemed. The thinness hid that, though he filled out the shirt nicely. There just wasn’t an extra ounce of fat on him anywhere.

No animal presented itself.

She had a whole schtick she did at the beginning of an appointment to figure out the owner and let the animal settle and get used to being heard and understood for the first time in its life by the primates that ruled it, so she was at a loss.

“This is a nice setup,” he said. He seemed to be pulling the words out of himself from some deep well of awkwardness.

“Yeah, when this was a mining town, this was a den of iniquity,” Penn said.

“I’m sorry?”

“A whorehouse,” Penn said. “I suppose it has a more PC name now.” She’d been fascinated by the history of this mining town.

“Right.”

“Can I get you anything? And by anything, I mean water?” She had never gotten used to the amount of water you had to drink living at altitude, nor the sunscreen, nor the fatigue.

It was unrelenting, as if you were walking around with lead weights.

Everyone said the body adjusted eventually, but she was still waiting.

“No. I’m doin’ fine.”

“Sorry, are you not from around here?” she asked, catching a bit of a drawl in his vowels.

“No, I hail from out east. But I’m staying on some family land south of town. If you’ve ever been by the ranch with the crazy gate?”

It was a vague description, but she immediately knew the one he meant.

There was one driveway on the road going down the mountain with a gate made of gigantic tin animals that seemed to move if you weren’t looking at them.

Locals said it had just shown up one day a couple of years ago, though it looked like it had been in the woods forever.

“Did you make that?” she asked.

He let out a shout of surprise. “No.”

She waited for an elaboration, but he didn’t say another word.

This was an odd conversation. Everyone knew everything about everybody in this town because every conversation was tacked on with detail after detail. He seemed to be devoid of details.

She took a deep breath. “So, where’s your pet?”

He swallowed. “Maybe you can tell me a little bit more about what you do?”

She was trying to decide if this was a red flag or a green flag that he was so protective of his fur baby that he wanted to meet her first without it. It could go either way.

“Well, I’m an animal psychologist,” she drifted off, fighting the strongest urge to tell him the title was bullshit.

He smiled, and she lost her breath for a second. Laugh lines appeared around his lips, and his eyes crinkled invitingly. “Is there a school for that?”

She cleared her throat. What was wrong with her? “The school of life. The title is bullshit. I’m just very good with animals and have found a career making their lives better.”

The smile fell off his face as if it had never been, as if he had never smiled before in his life. “The school of life is never bullshit.”

She nodded, wondering what the school of life had taught him. She had a feeling it wasn’t an easy course.

“Honestly, 90% of the time, the problem is the owner,” she added and then bit her tongue, remembering she was speaking to an owner.

He laughed again, but it wasn’t the kind that made laugh lines.

“So,” she said. She would get through this if it killed her. “How I work is that I talk to your animal. Metaphorically! And I figure out what the trouble is, and we work together to make a plan to make their lives better?”

“You mean to make the owners better.”

She laughed and then bit her lip to stop herself. “Something like that.”

“And does it help? Does it make any difference at all?”

Penn fought a spurt of outrage. “Of course, it helps. There may be no degree in animal psychology, but this isn’t a scam. I’m better than anyone with any kind of degree you’ll ever find.”

She trailed off, watching the play of emotion on his face, from chagrin to approval. She realized he wasn’t challenging her but seeking hope. He was desperate. What was his animal? She needed to get her hands on it. What problem would worry him so much?

“How can I help?” she finally asked and resisted leaning forward to touch some part of him.

“I don’t know,” he said, and ancient eyes caught hers again.

She swayed toward him and then sat back abruptly. “Well, let’s start with your animal. Why didn’t you bring it today? Are they hurt? Because I don’t heal physical wounds.” It was the hardest part of her talent. She could talk to them but not heal them.

“I did bring it.”

She laughed and bit her tongue hard enough to taste blood to get herself to stop. Visions of invisible werewolves ran through her head. She looked at his pockets. Was it a spider?

The first stirrings of disquiet drifted through her. Was he scamming her? Was he crazy? She was not defenseless here—especially with the newly revealed crossbow—but magical defense wasn’t clean.

Maybe something else was going on. She asked slowly, “Is it in the room with us right now?”

“Yes?”

“Where?”

He took a huge breath. “It’s me.”

“You’re the animal you want help with.” She was up and across the room before she’d even blinked, her hands clutching the doorknobs of two of the cabinets. “Okay, that’s not something I can help you with.”

“No, you don’t understand?—”

“I’m a professional!” She blanched. “Not that kind of professional. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but that’s not me!”

He held out both hands, palms up. “No, I’m literally an animal. I’m a wolf.”

Her blood rushed away from her head. Her vision narrowed, and she clenched her abs, trying to stay upright. “You’re a wolf.”

“I’m a wolf.”

“Like you turn into a wolf. You are a werewolf. You are a shifter. You are a werewolf shifter wolf.”

“Yes.”

“How did you get in here?”

“I walked?” he said, sounding confused.

“There’s a coven full of witches downstairs that hunt wolves and dedicate their lives to defending themselves from you. And you just walked in here.” She remembered the witches’ warnings about raccoons. They could not ward the stairs. Dear god.

“So, you are a witch,” he said, sounding relieved.

Belatedly, she realized the risk he’d just taken by revealing himself.

“Why the hell did you tell me that?” she demanded

“I, um, heard you talking at the race about magic. I thought maybe it was the right kind of magic.”

“To do what? Fix a werewolf? How could any witch help you?”

He put his head in his hands. “You don’t know.”

“I don’t know what?” she whispered and had no idea why she was whispering. They didn’t have magical hearing downstairs. The one with magical hearing was the guy sitting in front of her. Of course, he had overheard her.

“Of course you don’t know,” he said to himself. “Why would you know?”

“Why would I know what?”

“Witches made shifters.”

She blinked twice. “What?”

“I’ve lived with a witch my whole life, my aunt, so I forgot. I just forgot. We don’t have anyone with animal magic close, but I thought if that was you, maybe you could help. But I was clearly wrong.”

Her brain shuddered at the confession that his aunt was a witch.

“I don’t believe a word you’re saying,” she said. “That’s absurd. We’ve been enemies for centuries. We’ve slaughtered each other for centuries. We’ve dedicated our lives to defending ourselves from you.”

“Oh boy, same. But, um, not all witches?”

“You are literally in the heart of the coven.”

His eyes closed. “The Cauldron and Broom . That really should’ve been my first clue.”

“They will kill you and ask questions way later. You have to go.”

He stood up, not fighting her for a second. “I understand.”

“How are we going to get you out of here?”

“I’ll walk?” he said. “You really can’t tell from just looking at us.”

“Apparently not!”

“We could have been so much more together,” he said quietly, and her heart broke a little as he slipped out the door.

She took one step toward him until she came to her senses and sat shaking in the upstairs room, waiting for the sounds of a crossbow below, but the chimes went off and nothing happened.

“Did one follow you home?” she murmured to herself, staring at the tips of her fingernails.

Yes, one did.