bully.
King leaped between her and Marlowe, the brave little thing. The dog yapped sternly. She could practically hear him say, Knock it off, kid .
With a snarl, Marlowe kicked King.
“Hey.” She reached out to stop him.
The kick swished air. Leaping nimbly to the side, King kept yapping, not angry so much as telling the kid to shape up pronto or else.
Marlowe swore and missed another couple kicks. With an irritated spit to the side, he turned his attention to Sophia.
Oh, the look that kid gave her, from head to toe and definitely in between. Her palm itched to slap him. But questions first. “I’d like to talk with you. May I come in?”
King threw her a look that clearly said he thought she was nuts. She shrugged. She couldn’t disagree.
Marlowe sneered up his attitude. “Sure. Yum, yum.”
“Ew. I’m probably nearly a decade older than you.”
“Ain’t you heard of cougars?”
“Ain’t you heard, cougar beats wolf?” A giveaway that she knew about werewolves, but she was tired of the boy. She shouldered past him into the trailer, King following silently. She thought it telling that the dog refused to sniff around.
Trash cluttered the place. Not clutter like her aunt’s store. There was clutter from an active mind, clutter from folks too tired to clean, clutter from kids and clutter from illness.
Then there was the miasma of filth-in filth-out, like a snake’s nest of sloughed skin. Her own skin crawled. The rising sun struggled through grimy windows, sills lined with beer bottles. Amber light splotched everywhere—except one corner.
A single red bottle lit that corner like the wall wept blood. A sign .
Death had happened here.
If Sophia had been a practicing witch, she’d have cleansed the place with fire. As it was she vowed to find out what had happened and make whoever was responsible pay.
The kid pushed past her and turned with a grin. “Welcome to your worst nightmare.” It was a rehearsed line.
“Grow up.” She straightened to her full height and looked him in the eye. “I have questions. About your theft. Why the bookstore?”
“Me? Theft?” Marlowe overdid the innocence. “Maybe old lady Blue needs better protection.”
King sat on disgusted haunches. She didn’t even bother contradicting the kid. “Who told you to steal from her?”
“Kille—hey. No trick questions. I didn’t steal anything.”
She held both hands up. “One more. Did my aunt come here to retrieve her property?”
“Please. We don’t allow scrawny old hens like her with us prime bachelors.”
And again, ew. That was her cue to exit. “Thanks. I’ll be going.”
“Yip!” King barked a warning. Marlowe’s eyes flicked to a spot behind her. His slow, lurid smile made the hairs on her nape rise.
“You ain’t fucking’ going nowhere.”
“You must be Killer.” She turned, easy, but inside her nerves were screaming.
“In the fuckin’ flesh.” Filling the doorway was an f-bomb werewolf on toothpick legs. “Speaking of fuckin’ flesh…” He grabbed his crotch and bumped his hips.
She ground fists into her eyes, trying to scrub out her retinas. Killer was Marlowe but heavier, hairier and not as subtle. Now she knew where the kid learned his suave way with the ladies.
Killer sauntered toward her. She dropped her hands, loose, ready for fight or flight.
Pain unexpectedly seared her side. She bit back a yelp and slapped a hand over her pocket. A hard length met her palm.
The carbon fiber wand was in her blazer pocket, primed with battle magic, acting as if it was still hers.
Yes. She could instantly downgrade this ass with a whip of the wand.
Shame, sealing her magic away, dying… She hesitated.
King leaped between them, barking angrily at Killer.
The wolfman snapped teeth at the dog. “Looks like I’m having me a snack first.”
For the little dog’s sake. She grabbed the wand.
A lightning bolt of pain ripped from her hand, through her skull and heart before ripping out
King leaped between her and Marlowe, the brave little thing. The dog yapped sternly. She could practically hear him say, Knock it off, kid .
With a snarl, Marlowe kicked King.
“Hey.” She reached out to stop him.
The kick swished air. Leaping nimbly to the side, King kept yapping, not angry so much as telling the kid to shape up pronto or else.
Marlowe swore and missed another couple kicks. With an irritated spit to the side, he turned his attention to Sophia.
Oh, the look that kid gave her, from head to toe and definitely in between. Her palm itched to slap him. But questions first. “I’d like to talk with you. May I come in?”
King threw her a look that clearly said he thought she was nuts. She shrugged. She couldn’t disagree.
Marlowe sneered up his attitude. “Sure. Yum, yum.”
“Ew. I’m probably nearly a decade older than you.”
“Ain’t you heard of cougars?”
“Ain’t you heard, cougar beats wolf?” A giveaway that she knew about werewolves, but she was tired of the boy. She shouldered past him into the trailer, King following silently. She thought it telling that the dog refused to sniff around.
Trash cluttered the place. Not clutter like her aunt’s store. There was clutter from an active mind, clutter from folks too tired to clean, clutter from kids and clutter from illness.
Then there was the miasma of filth-in filth-out, like a snake’s nest of sloughed skin. Her own skin crawled. The rising sun struggled through grimy windows, sills lined with beer bottles. Amber light splotched everywhere—except one corner.
A single red bottle lit that corner like the wall wept blood. A sign .
Death had happened here.
If Sophia had been a practicing witch, she’d have cleansed the place with fire. As it was she vowed to find out what had happened and make whoever was responsible pay.
The kid pushed past her and turned with a grin. “Welcome to your worst nightmare.” It was a rehearsed line.
“Grow up.” She straightened to her full height and looked him in the eye. “I have questions. About your theft. Why the bookstore?”
“Me? Theft?” Marlowe overdid the innocence. “Maybe old lady Blue needs better protection.”
King sat on disgusted haunches. She didn’t even bother contradicting the kid. “Who told you to steal from her?”
“Kille—hey. No trick questions. I didn’t steal anything.”
She held both hands up. “One more. Did my aunt come here to retrieve her property?”
“Please. We don’t allow scrawny old hens like her with us prime bachelors.”
And again, ew. That was her cue to exit. “Thanks. I’ll be going.”
“Yip!” King barked a warning. Marlowe’s eyes flicked to a spot behind her. His slow, lurid smile made the hairs on her nape rise.
“You ain’t fucking’ going nowhere.”
“You must be Killer.” She turned, easy, but inside her nerves were screaming.
“In the fuckin’ flesh.” Filling the doorway was an f-bomb werewolf on toothpick legs. “Speaking of fuckin’ flesh…” He grabbed his crotch and bumped his hips.
She ground fists into her eyes, trying to scrub out her retinas. Killer was Marlowe but heavier, hairier and not as subtle. Now she knew where the kid learned his suave way with the ladies.
Killer sauntered toward her. She dropped her hands, loose, ready for fight or flight.
Pain unexpectedly seared her side. She bit back a yelp and slapped a hand over her pocket. A hard length met her palm.
The carbon fiber wand was in her blazer pocket, primed with battle magic, acting as if it was still hers.
Yes. She could instantly downgrade this ass with a whip of the wand.
Shame, sealing her magic away, dying… She hesitated.
King leaped between them, barking angrily at Killer.
The wolfman snapped teeth at the dog. “Looks like I’m having me a snack first.”
For the little dog’s sake. She grabbed the wand.
A lightning bolt of pain ripped from her hand, through her skull and heart before ripping out
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