Page 66 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

Chapter Fifteen

The sun shone brightly on the hills of heather and stonecrop and red campion as they crossed to the castle ruins. A single round, bright-pink robin flew ahead, leading a flock of three paper birds that had found Sorcha the moment she left Nettlestone. One of them was in tatters, wings singed and ink running. They had been crafted with tapestry-printed paper she had pulled from a decorating periodical. They were not leading her anywhere in particular, only finding her.

Aidan studied them, his hands in his pockets, his stride so much longer than hers that he had to slow down to keep pace. “How many of your paper birds are even now circling Lyonesse?”

Sorcha shrugged. “I never know. I have at least a dozen, and I’ve spelled some for the Library and the Iron Witches and families with pets.”

“And that is how you find the Cauldron.”

“Yes. They seek out animals and creatures in trouble.”

Aidan grew warier as they got closer, some instinct warning him. She could tell in the way he shifted to keep her in sight, in reach. And then they crested the last hill and there it was, the old stone tower, the burned-out shell of the outbuildings. “They never stay long in one place,” Sorcha explained. “And never once has the Red Cloak found them.”

Aidan nodded. “Even when abandoned, we have not had much luck. Well done, songbird.”

A spark of warmth joined the fluttering. When had she become someone who fluttered? Even internally. But there it was. Fluttering. Warmth. A squirming kind of pleasure at his praise.

All that remained of the stables were charred posts and one corner of the roof, as well as iridescent scales and a hank of fur that looked as though it had once belonged to the hippogriff. Chains, burned ropes.

Aidan’s irises were gold now, glinting dangerously. Sorcha felt the same way. She always did, whether the Cauldron was full of screaming violence or this unsettling, dismal silence. She skirted a smear of dried blood. “This has to stop.”

“It will,” Aidan promised softly.

“Do you know any of the Lycan that have been taken?”

“Yes.”

“I freed three wolves that night. Orla and two others, but I didn’t see them in the woods.”

“They may have gone straight home through the portal. Not many Packs call Lyonesse home.”

“And who is your wolf family? Your Pack?” Sorcha had never heard of the Carnahan family being wolves before. Were they particularly secret? Or had Aidan been bitten? It was rare, but it did happen. Earls and museum curators might follow the rules, but wolves did not. It made her think of what he had said to her when she was pinned to the wall and panting for his touch. What had happened to him? What choice had been taken from him?

“I don’t have a Pack.”

She frowned. “But you are an Alpha? That’s what Agnes told me.”

“Aye.”

It was clear that he was not going to elaborate.

Yet.

She would get him talking. Or she would find Agnes again.

The paper birds did not care much for her plotting. They fluttered around her until she followed them into the tower.

“Wait for me,” Aidan grumbled. “Did we not just discuss how dangerous all of this is?”

“They’re gone now,” Sorcha said, waving away his worry. “There are two crows on the turrets just there.”

“And that means?”

“One for sorrow, two for mirth,” she explained. “No one is lurking about. Now, if there was only a single crow, I might worry. But they’ll let me know if anyone approaches. They do like to gossip.” She raised her eyebrow. “Just as I am sure you would be able to sense if there was someone hiding inside.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“That is entirely the point.”