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“May I help you?”
“Madam Fairborn from Enchantment sent us, hoping you could help.”
“Help?” Her eyes zeroed in on the pair of them. “I see…you are wolves.”
Bellamy drew back in shock, not only because of her ability to sense who they were, but because he’d never been called a wolf before by a virtual stranger. What sorts of gifts did she have? Advanced, Madam Fairborn had said.
“We mean no harm,” Ashwood said.
Still, she narrowed her eyes. “What is this regarding?”
“I… You probably don’t remember me. I was young. But you knew my mother,” he said as Lady Osborn’s eyebrows rose. “Her name was Claudia.”
“Ah, yes. You favor her.” She looked him over, and Bellamy breathed out. She glanced warily over his shoulder to the empty hallway. “Come inside.”
She led them into the same sparse sitting room he recalled from his childhood, but now the night with his mother seemed so different in his memory. He’d been scared, conceivably affected by his mother’s energy as she’d pleaded with Lady Osborn for help. He needed to get down to the bottom of this before their time ran out.
“She stopped coming to see me,” Lady Osborn said as she ushered them to sit down. “I assumed she decided…”
“My mother was killed by a wolf.”
Lady Osborn raised her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Bellamy dipped his head, and felt Ashwood’s hand on his shoulder for support. “It’s the reason for my visit. I only needed to know for certain…”
“What is it you’d like to hear?” she asked warily.
He pushed the question he was dying to know the answer to past his lips. “Was my mother also a wolf?”
“Of course.” Her eyebrows knitted together. “She didn’t tell you?”
He panted out a harsh breath. He’d asked himself the same question countless times. He’d been able to forgive Ashwood, and he would need to forgive her as well. But forgiving was more about letting someone or something go and allowing for peace inside yourself. He hadn’t realized until that very moment that at the center of his despair over losing her, he was also holding on to the last vestiges of anger toward her because had he known, perhaps he could’ve done something, anything, to save her. Or perhaps it would’ve yielded the same result. But he certainly wouldn’t be standing in a witch’s residence, asking her personal questions about his own mother. Questions he should’ve had answers to.
“Only that I would know when I came of age,” he finally replied.
“Ah, yes.” She sank down in the wingback chair across from them. “She was waiting to see if you, her direct descendant…”
“Would also become a wolf?”
She nodded. “There was a chance you didn’t inherit enough of the lupine blood to register the change during the full moon.”
“Right,” he said quietly, trying to put himself in his mother’s place. He could empathize that it was a taxing decision to make. “And I distinctly remember the potion you supplied her. So, I can only assume she was taking a suppressant?”
She glanced at the door as if they could be overheard. He hadn’t realized until then how controversial such an idea might be. To most, wolves were only a fairy tale. And they were definitely on the verge of becoming a dying breed, so it might’ve angered some wolves as well. Perhaps wolves like Kipling. “That is correct.”
Bellamy glanced at Ashwood, but Ashwood remained silent, which Bellamy was grateful for. It helped him gather his thoughts. “Do you know why?”
“So she could raise you properly—and safely,” Lady Osborn replied as if it were that simple. But to Bellamy, it was still confusing until Lady Osborn added, “She was afraid of him.”
He could feel Ashwood stiffen beside him. “Of whom?”
“Of the man who made her a wolf,” she replied, and Bellamy’s stomach tightened painfully. His mother had not been born a wolf but had been made one by someone, and she’d lived in fear of that someone ever since. It explained why she was so careful and guarded.
“Do you know who…did that to her?” He held his breath, terrified of the answer. Afraid it would only send him on yet another journey to uncover even more mysteries. But he’d also be relieved to finally uncover such truths.
“Are you prepared for these answers?” she asked him, and he realized how stiff he’d become. He tried to unroll his shoulders, loosen his limbs, to appear more relaxed, but to no avail.
“Ready or not, he deserves to know the answers he seeks,” Ashwood said, to Bellamy’s surprise.
Lady Osborn folded her arms. “There must’ve been some reason his mother kept all this from him.”
“To protect him,” Ashwood replied. “You said as much yourself. But quite honestly, it’s not fair to him. He needs to know what or who might await him someday.”
She raised an eyebrow as they each stubbornly stood their ground. Bellamy didn’t want to cause any trouble or be ushered out the door before he could find out more. Still, he was grateful that Ashwood had stepped in to offer his support. He might’ve otherwise been utterly lost without him.
