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La Sorcière tapped her wooden spoon against the side of the cauldron then teetered away from it. I assumed she would go to Eugenia, but instead she walked up to me. She was so small her height standing was still shorter than mine sitting. She grabbed my hands, turned them palm up and gave them a thorough once-over, dragging her fingernails over every bump and groove.
She paid extra attention to the lifelines, her nail skating along one, then the other, and then back to the short one. A low whistle escaped her lips, and her shocking blue eyes met mine. They were so, so blue. Finish
ed with my hands, she allowed them to drop to my lap before she reached to my neck.
I flinched, my hand going protectively to the tiger’s iron I wore.
The witch slapped my hand gently, and I let her unclasp the necklace. I huffed out a breath and said, “Go ahead. It’s faulty anyway.”
La Sorcière shook her head then spoke in perfect English. “Nothing this stone can do will turn away the evil eye on you.” She slipped the tiger’s iron into a pouch on the front of her dress, then touched one finger to my forehead, grimaced and walked off muttering in her weird French dialect.
Eugenia looked confused.
“What did she say?” I asked.
“She said ‘Only when you know the way, will you be out from under the cloud that follows you.’”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Mercedes was still parked outside Arnie’s slanty shanty. Guess he hadn’t had a chance to find a willing chop shop to come drag it away. I wanted to burn his shack to the ground with him inside it. I wanted to take him in his stupid skiff and abandon him on the island with the Loups-Garous with a sign around his neck that said, Will be your butt buddy for food.
I wanted to kill him.
He had abandoned us there, and I couldn’t fathom what kind of deal he’d worked out with the ferals, but he knew Holden and I weren’t coming back alive.
But he was human, and a long time ago I’d promised myself I wouldn’t kill any humans.
It didn’t mean I couldn’t fuck up his life like he’d tried to fuck up mine. I went to the Mercedes and popped the trunk. Inside was a spare gas can, and in the emergency kit I found matches.
All the commotion of slamming car doors brought the ancient old man out onto his deck.
He caught a glimpse of me—hair still caked with mud, my tank top sprayed with blood from my fight with Carn—and he crossed himself.
I shook my head and brought the gas can over to his skiff. “No one upstairs is listening to your fucking prayers, old man.” I dumped out half the gas on the wooden boat then threw a lit match on top. It went up with the gusto of a Roman candle. Old wood always burns best.
I walked over to him, and he began to tremble when I was inches away. I held the gas can up so it was in his line of sight. “Ours was the last tour you’ll ever run. If I find out you left anyone else out there—and I will find out—the next fire I light is your bed. With you in it.”
His knees buckled, and he sagged to the deck, staring at his boat and weeping.
He deserved worse, but he believed in a Christian God, so he knew he’d be getting his in the end. There was a level in Hell for liars and murderers. I hoped it involved lots of flaying.
Holden was leaning against the driver’s side, his hands on the roof and his chin resting on top of them. Eugenia watched with open-mouthed horror. She was probably reconsidering her decision to come with me, now.
“Hell hath no fury like a Secret screwed over,” Holden muttered.
I put the gas back in the trunk. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. I never want to see a goddamn swamp again for as long as I live.”
One of my greatest skills has to be my ability to make one hell of an entrance.
The whole pack—minus two kings—was at The Den when we returned. You could have heard a pin drop when I walked through the door, mud-caked and bloody.
Hank was the first person to speak, and I was ever so happy he was.
“Looks like someone’s been out in the woods rolling around with some nig—”
I punched him so hard he crumpled like a house of playing cards.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment you opened your mouth, you stupid son of a bitch.” I stepped over him and up to the bar. Jackson, who’d been across the room, was suddenly at my side and looked ready to take on the world if anyone tried to avenge Hank. No one made a move until the pack’s sole African-American member came up to me and placed a hand on my shoulder, beaming.
