Page 15

Chapter

Fourteen

“ M e? What do you think you’re doing here?” He mouthed the words, but I didn’t have any trouble picking up on the rage behind them.

He released me with a hard look.

“Trying to find Bronwyn and Margaux,” I mouthed back.

Was it smart to leave out Ronan? I kind of thought it was. Margaux had said I could go to Mason for help, but she’d meant with Bronwyn. I didn’t trust the man where Ronan was concerned.

“Bronwyn Jonas?” For the briefest of seconds, his expression morphed from fiery rage to naked concern. It settled on snobbish disdain. “Get out of here. You’re in my way.”

I conveyed my response to that with a raised middle finger.

Did he honestly believe I’d abandon the witches? On the say-so of his alpha, he’d been watching me for weeks, possibly months, and the fool was still clueless.

His eyes shut for a long moment while he breathed through his nose. “Look, I’ve got this. Just go. I mean it.”

“You can’t fight this without a magical.” I tried not to make even a whisper of a sound. I’d already guessed there was another shifter around. One Mason didn’t trust.

“What makes you think I’m here to fight?”

I looked at him then mouthed, “Are we playing this game?” When he only stared at me, I whispered, “Margaux said you’d help. She said this made you square.”

He muttered a choice selection of curse words.

Interesting .

Heavy footfalls overhead reminded me that we weren’t alone in the house.

They must’ve reminded him, too, because he gave up trying to shove me outside and pointed to a doorway that led into the kitchen. “Pantry. Now. You and the cat.”

I don’t know why I listened to him. He was a lying, violent asshole who’d nearly choked me out once. But he was also the guy who’d crawled back to a place where he’d been tortured with silver to dump a handful of soil on my head because he’d known I’d needed it to survive.

Mason Hartman was an enigma wrapped in a secret sealed with a punch to the throat. I loathed him and had wished for him to take a long walk off a short pier more than once, yet there was something about the man that had me thinking twice about where he stood in the grand scheme of things.

I jerked my head at Fennel, and we both ducked into the pantry and shut the door. The room was walk-in-closet sized and filled with neatly arranged canning jars and airtight plastic containers that all matched each other. It was homogenous and entirely devoid of personality, like the brainchild of one of those internet influencers who thought any color darker than pale gray was a sign of the devil.

This was Maya’s pantry? She seemed so much more vibrant than this. It was as if Desmond had done his damndest to drain every last drop of color from her life.

I wanted him to pay for that. I wanted him to pay for a lot of things, but that especially seemed like a tragedy. His systematic deconstruction of the normally happy, vivacious woman pissed me off.

“We’re going to get this guy,” I whispered to Fennel.

A commotion in the kitchen caught my attention. I thought about backing into the far corner and crouching behind a stack of bleached white dishtowels but decided to inch forward to eavesdrop instead. I was already taking a series of huge risks. What was one more?

“What the devil happened down here? I heard a cat screech, and now you’ve got blood all over your shirt,” a gravelly voice asked.

I knew that voice. I’d spent a lot of time hating it and the man it belonged to.

Floyd Pallás.

“Ran into a trap,” Mason said. “A weak one. My injuries have already healed.”

“Good for you. Problem is, I can’t scent anything in here but your damned blood,” Floyd snapped. “Didn’t I tell you to watch out for Mace’s traps? He told us himself he’d stuck them all around the house.”

Fennel looked up at me with wide eyes. We gave the small room a nervous visual once-over.

“Yes, sir, you did. Should I search the house again?”

“Nah. If he brought Ronan here, we’d have found him by now. Let’s go to the bar and regroup. We’ll find the slippery bastard—he can’t have gotten far.”

“Yes, sir ,” Mason said, and damned if I didn’t detect a hint of disdain in his tone.

Exactly what kind of game are you playing, Mason Hartman? Why didn’t you tell him I’m here? Are you protecting me or him?

Or maybe yourself?

I had so many questions.

The wolves left, and I searched the house, setting off several of Desmond’s “traps” while protected by my shield. None of them were deadly—they appeared meant to frighten or ensnare, not injure. Some had contained wolfsbane, though, which was lethal to wolves in high doses, annoying to them in smaller ones.

I didn’t get it. If Desmond was aligned with the pack, why had he set traps to harm them?

Cecil met us upstairs, his null bag sealed and filled to bursting.

“Did you have any trouble?” I asked.

He made a tsk sound and shook his head.

“We didn’t find Margaux. Did you pick up on anything that might help us find her?”

Another head shake, this time accompanied by a flash of side eye.

“I know what I saw, Cecil. The vision was hideous. Blood all over the foyer.” I squeezed Margaux’s charm, which still hung around my neck. “He could’ve used a spell to clean it up, but then where’s Margaux? Did he kill her or is she just unconscious? Where’s Bronwyn? And Floyd’s looking for Ronan? He doesn’t have him? Nothing makes sense.”

I snatched up the heavy null bag and went into Desmond’s bedroom, Cecil and Fennel behind me. The room was decorated—and I used the term loosely—in shades of gray and white. A queen bed with a gray comforter, two gray nightstands, one gray dresser with attached mirror. The wall decorations were black and white landscapes. There wasn’t a speck of color in the room, not a patterned throw pillow or even a colorful afghan draped over the foot of the bed.

It looked like a prison.

“Search carefully,” I said. “I have no idea what he’s up to, but I really don’t like the way everyone seems to be acting opposite to their nature today—Margaux’s selflessness, Mason’s protection, and now Desmond’s about-face on the pack? I feel like I slipped into another dimension.”

I tried to inspect the room for traps before allowing the guys in, but Cecil ignored me—as usual—and followed me inside.

There was one half-assed sneezing spell near the window. Strange. I’d cast more powerful spells in preschool. These would barely slow down a human, much less a magical or shifter.

Another example of Desmond’s laziness? That was my guess.

Fennel trotted into the master bathroom, Cecil darted under the bed, and I checked everything else. The room was sparse and dust-free. The dresser drawers had been ransacked. The closet had been too, and there were three matching suitcases on a shelf in the back. One was packed with women’s clothing. The others were empty, but there was a leather duffel on the floor stuffed with men’s clothing, toiletries, and a pair of running shoes. The clothing wasn’t right for it to have been a gym bag, and the shoes still had tags on them.

We didn’t find a passport or other form of identification, nor did we find a cell phone—not in the bedroom, office, or anywhere else. He might not have had time to grab his bag, but he might not have needed to. A person could get pretty far with a cell phone, some cash, and a passport.

But why would he run? Sure, he’d lost his wife, but he’d had to know that day would come eventually. He wasn’t a stupid man, just lazy and cruel. And everything else had seemed to be going his way.

He’d gotten control of the coven. He’d taken down Margaux. Twice. He had more power at his fingertips than ever. Four witches, even weak ones, bonded within a coven were dangerous.

That the Weret-hekau Maleficium had been in his possession showed that he’d aligned himself with Alpha Floyd, arguably the most powerful alpha leader in Smokethorn County.

So what was going on?

“You drove by all the places on the list?” Maya wrapped her hands around a sweating glass of ice water and sat back in the kitchen chair.

It was four o’clock by the time we returned home. I texted Beau a thumbs up while Cecil hauled the null bag into the garden room to destroy it. The gnome seemed disappointed he hadn’t gotten to fire off one of his explosives.

Fennel curled up in his bed. Attacking wolves was tiring work, and Fennel believed in conserving his strength.

“Every single one,” I replied.

“It’s like he vanished off the face of the earth.” Ida’s brows lowered. “Is that possible? Could he have tricked a demon into opening a portal into Purgatory like you, Fennel, and I did with that fool Gnath? Or maybe opened some kind of pocket universe? I heard on this podcast I listen to that there are witches and mages who can do that sort of thing. They use them to travel huge distances.”

“Are you talking about Horrified ? I listen to it, too. I love Eliza.” Maya took a sip of water. “She’s got that whole Elvira, Mistress of the Dark vibe down pat.”

“Eliza mixes the truth with fiction on her show. Pretty sure that’s the fiction part,” I said.

Ida slid a sandwich in front of me. “Are you saying it’s impossible?”

“Nothing is impossible, but it’s so outside the realm of reason it’s more accurate to say that it is than that it isn’t.” I took a bite of the peanut butter sandwich, chewed, swallowed. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast—a dumb mistake. I needed to stay strong now more than ever.

“No, Desmond’s hiding somewhere in this world. And I think he has Margaux and Bronwyn with him.”

“But not Ronan?” Ida asked.

“Possibly. But what I don’t understand is why he’d be keeping Ronan from Floyd. If Floyd wanted Ronan dead and Desmond was the killer he’d hired to do it, why wouldn’t he just turn him over to the pack? And where does Mason figure into all this? Nothing is making sense.”

“I wish I could remember the things Desmond said when I was under that spell.” Maya shivered. “I’ve been trying so hard, but it’s all such a blur. I remember the cleaning and the cooking. The screaming and yelling. That icky magic book he made me polish with that rancid-smelling stuff—nothing else.”

“Don’t force it,” Ida said. “It’ll come or it won’t, and worrying yourself sick won’t help anyone. You need to keep calm. Maybe take your rat for a run around the park. I told everyone to leave you alone but stay away from that trailer over there—” She flung a hand in the direction of Senora Cervantes’s place. “She’s a grouch.”

I put down my sandwich, remembering that I’d promised to send Beau a text when I was safe. I picked up my cell and sent him a thumbs-up emoji. He immediately liked the message, which told me he’d been waiting for the text.

I started to put the phone away when I noticed a new message had come in.

“Speaking of taking your rat for a run…” I passed my phone to Maya. “Kale just forwarded me a text from the rat pack leader. She wants to meet you.”

I wasn’t surprised Kale and Denzel had told their leader about Maya. They’d been mesmerized by her status as an omega.

“Really?” Maya read the text several times. “Do you think I could?”

“Do you want to?” I asked.

“Very much. That run last night was a reminder of everything I gave up when I married Desmond. Not that I knew it at the time.” She looked up from the phone, hope on her face. “I know this isn’t a good time. I don’t want to be any more of a nuisance to you than I already am. The most important thing is that we find Bronwyn.”

I thought it over. “Honestly, it might be exactly the right time for you to connect with the rat pack. Let’s see if she’ll agree to meet here.”

Mom had told me that rats, as a group, tended to be privy to information that other shifters weren’t. They were small and not fierce as individuals, but together they were nearly unstoppable. They understood better than most that true power lies in information, not teeth and claws. She’d taught me to always stay on the right side of a rat pack.

I took my phone and the last bite of my sandwich into my bedroom to call Karen Zurka. I needed more information about the rat leadership from someone other than Kale and Denzel. Hopefully, she’d be willing to tell me.

“Hey, Betty. The boss still hasn’t shown up here. You haven’t found anything?” Music, the clink of glasses, and the sound of people chatting were in the background. She was at the pub.

“No, and I’m getting desperate, Karen.” I gave her a quick overview of the situation with Maya.

“An omega, huh? That’s wonderful news.”

“I’m hoping if I allow the rat pack leader onto my property to meet Maya, she might share some information with me, but I don’t know how to ask without offending her. I don’t even know her name. Kale and Denzel just referred to her as Alpha.”

“Oh gods.” She did the aural equivalent of an eye roll—a teeth click and a sigh. “You know those goofballs?”

“Yeah. We had a run-in a few months ago, and they owed me a favor.”

“That’s no surprise. They’re always getting into trouble. Hang on. Let me go into the office for a minute.” A door shut, and the background noise cut off. “Lydia Vincent is her name. She took over the pack a year ago and has been whipping it into shape. I like her. She’s not controlling or cruel, but she suffers no bullshit. If you want to ask her something, be respectful and straightforward. Pretty much how you usually act. With less sarcasm.”

“Got it.”

“An omega rat is a huge boon for any pack. Our alpha won’t force Maya to join, but she will bargain hard for it. An omega brings peace. Stability. They’re very rare and precious. I can’t believe one was under our noses here for years, and we didn’t know it.”

“Her witch husband discouraged then outright forbade her from shifting,” I said. “He’s the one behind the missing witches. Possibly behind Ronan’s disappearance, too.”

I was amazed that my voice remained steady. My despair was holding its breath, but it was only a matter of time before it exhaled, and I collapsed on the floor in tears.

No. Not yet. I couldn’t allow weakness to creep in. I had to keep fighting.

“Tell her that,” Karen said. “Tell her everything.” She paused for a moment then added, “I’ve got some feelers out, but I’ll put out a few more now that I have a lead on who might have him.”

“Thank you, Karen.”

“No problem. Ronan’s not just my boss. He’s my friend.”

“He feels the same way about you,” I said.

“Of course he does. I’m a helluva good assistant manager.” Pub sounds returned to the background. She must’ve left Ronan’s office. “By the way, Alpha Vincent’s got a sweet tooth. Serve her something with strawberries. They’re her favorite.”

We ended the call, and I texted Kale back.

Alpha Vincent is invited onto the Siete Saguaros property. Bring her directly to my door. Her security detail will have to wait off property. Only you two and the Alpha will be allowed into the park. We’re on a strict perimeter lockdown to protect the omega.

Strict perimeter lockdown sounded like the ranting of a conspiracy theorist. Still, it was accurate. It was only a matter of time before Desmond figured out where his wife was and tried to do something about it.

I had a reputation in this town, and it wasn’t only about my coarse language and dating history, either. Paranormals knew I was someone they could turn to when no one else would help. Plus, most people knew I did business with Bronwyn. If I were Desmond, I’d have figured it out already.

The reply from Kale came swiftly:

Alpha approves. Be there in two hours.

When I emerged from my room, Ida had gone home to check on Meredith the mandrake and Maya was scampering around the living room in rat form.

It must’ve been so terribly hard for her not to shift. Why had she allowed that twit Desmond to hurt her like that?

It was a rhetorical question, because I knew why. It was never fast, the control grab. No, it was tiny pokes and prods, assiduously applied guilt and abuse and coaxing. It was small cracks that you didn’t see until the ground beneath your feet became so dangerous you had to navigate it on your tiptoes lest it crater open and swallow you.

And all those careful footsteps, all those shoulder-slumped, head-down moments gradually drained away every drop of who you were until one day you looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the person staring back.

I’d done a brief stint in a relationship like that. I was young, and he was a take-charge, alpha-male type I’d romanticized myself into thinking was a good guy. Thankfully, he hadn’t been mature enough to play the long game, like Desmond had. He’d almost immediately begun tearing me down—accusing me of cheating, telling me I needed to lose weight then accusing me of trying to look good for other guys when I did. Ridiculing my mom, my friends, and the things I enjoyed, like classic music, black clothing, and even my beloved saguaros.

It was the last that had finally awakened me. Turned out, I’d loved Red even more than I’d loved myself, and when the jackass started picking on him, it didn’t take long for me to see the light.

I smiled as Maya’s sleek white body scampered up the side of the fireplace, across the mantel, and down the other side. Despite everything going on, I experienced a moment of pure happiness knowing I’d helped her the way Red had helped me.

Well, Bronwyn, Margaux, and I had helped.

Bronwyn .

And with that, I was back to gloomy.

“I’m going to make some jam thumbprint cookies, so don’t go near the oven, okay?” I said this to the sofa she’d scuttled beneath. “Also, no pooping on the floor. The bathroom door is open. Use it.”

Maya popped out from under the sofa, darted up my leg, and bit my kneecap through my jeans. Then she retreated under the sofa.

“Ouch! Hey, it’s a legitimate concern.”

Her reply was a squeaky little chitter that sounded like Cecil when he was pissed at me.

I switched on KLXX and spent the next hour baking. The strawberry jam was fresh—I’d bought it along with some boysenberry at the local farmer’s market a week or so ago in case I needed to bribe Cecil in the near future—and the cookies turned out great.

I’d checked my phone every two minutes while baking, and even futilely texted Ronan. If he’d had his phone, he’d have answered by now. Still, it made me feel like I was doing something besides making freaking cookies for an alpha leader who might or might not help me while Ronan was out there, definitely missing, possibly hurt.

Or worse.

No. You’re not going down that path, Betty.

Half an hour before the rat alpha was supposed to arrive, Fennel padded into the kitchen. I’d prepped the coffeemaker and was brewing a pot of mint tea to have something to offer. It felt pointless, tedious, and I was borderline manic with everything going on, but I wanted to make a good impression on the alpha leader.

If all went well, I might score some information from her.

If all went well.

“Fennel, you should probably make yourself scarce. Rats don’t usually like cats.”

He swished his tail hard and gave me an annoyed look.

“Oh, we’re not that narrow-minded,” a feminine voice called out from the front door. “In fact, I happen to own two myself. As much as anyone can own a cat, I suppose.”