Page 33 of The Wolfing Hour

Cecil’s beard twitched. He leaned over the edge of the car seat looking as if he were hanging onto my every word. An excited chitter burped out of him.

“The sort of messy you like.”

He laughed. It was a sound that landed somewhere between a chipmunk’s chirp and a hyena’s cackle. Devious, and more than a little evil.

Good.

There was a human cop on the next corner, so I slowed for the stoplight and checked my rearview mirror.

My heart clutched in my chest. She was back again, the gray woman from this morning. Skin like ashes, eyes like the bottom of a deep well. It was, as I’d suspected, the demon version of me.

She smiled, eyes pinched, face tilted—yet my own head, eyes, and lips hadn’t moved. We were out of sync. She was a mask, but she was a heavy one, and I couldn’t seem to take her off.

Didn’twantto take her off.

I glanced up again, and this time when she smiled, I smiled with her.

The light changed, and I turned onto the next street, my brain focused entirely on my goal.

It’s time. This has gone on long enough.

The calm settling over me didn’t match my sight-stealing, pulse-jolting rage. Witch Betty was a hot-blooded mess when she was furious. Apparently, Demon Betty was something else altogether.

An ice queen. A glacier goddess of retribution. Her wrath moved in slow serpentine twists inside me. On the outside, reality bent in new and peculiar ways. There were growling, guttural groans in my ears that didn’t correspond with knowncity noise. Car horns sounded like fog horns; sirens sounded like screams—even the air conditioning blowing through the vents was less like a breath of air and more like a hissing steam vent.

My cell rang.Jangle-growl-jangle.

Ida’s face was on the screen.

I reached down to tap it. My finger was the color of an overcast day, the nails still black, but dramatically pointed, as if I’d had a stiletto manicure. If I’d still had the capacity to fear anything, it would’ve been looking at my teeth. Would they be pointed, too? Covered in blood? If so, whose? And why didn’t I care?

My hand moved in and out of focus,witch-demon-witch-demon.

“Betty,” Ronan said, sounding less like his human self and more like his wolf. He’d obviously borrowed Ida’s cell. “We have to act strategically.”

“To hell with strategy.” I sounded emotionless but resolute. “It’s time for him to die.”

“Betty, honey, I know how you feel. Gods, I might be the only person who truly does. But right now, you need to get back here. Gladys needs you. Ida needs you.Ineed you.”

“Margaux is on her way.She’s bringing help.”

“Don’t do this.” His voice was like steel and carried the slightest edge of his wolf. “You can’t be sure he’s even there. And if he is, he’ll be expecting you to react. You know he wants you dead. Don’t make it easy for him.”

I glanced at my wavering reflection in the driver’s side mirror.Witch-demon-witch-demon. “Got to be honest with you, Ronan. I don’t think killing me is going to be easy.”

Gods, I was calm. It was like someone had slipped me something. My anger sat on the back burner, simmering in its pot. It was there, it was active, but it wasn’t controlling me.

Or was it?

“Whatever has taken you over, I know you can fight it. You’re the strongest, most badass person I know. You can fight this.” Ronan’s voice was a strange mixture of firm and beseeching, and it crawled under the cold shell of my demonic side and tickled at my humanity.

“He needs to die,” I said, suddenly unsure.

“You’re right. He does. And we’re going to take the bastard down, but not like this.”

Ida made clucking noises in the background. It was obvious she wanted her phone back.

“Gladys needs my help,” he said. “I love you, Betty Lennox.”