“We have pushed out the local coven,” she said. “My lady, our Ishtar, has told me that you have found the results.”
“Yes,” I said. Who was Ishtar? It sounded, from the way she said it, more like a title than a name, but I couldn’t be certain.
“Good. Then you will have no trouble with us assuming their place. We find that this town, which previously we knew nothing about, has become very interesting—a place where the werewolves make certain everyone feels safe. You will stay out of our way—and we will allow you to remain here.”
“No,” I said. I’d heard the “feels” safe. “Feels safe” is a lot different from “is safe.”
She smiled. “Ms. Hauptman, you are young.” Which was a weird thing for her to say. I’d have put her in her midtwenties, maybe, given the kindness of night shadows, even midthirties. “I doubt you know your history. Until the arrival of the Marrok, werewolves were the vermin of the supernatural world. Dangerous individually, of course, if one were such a fool as to put yourself in a bad position, but ultimately not much of a threat. Nuisances. Your pack does not belong to the witchborn Marrok, he who has abandoned his birthright. Alone, you and your pack are no match for us.”
She was guessing about Bran being witchborn, I was pretty sure. Bran made a point of not confirming that rumor.
The witch looked at Stefan. “I understand that you do not represent the Mistress of the Seethe, but that she listens to you. Please inform her that we will send a delegate to speak with her sometime in the next few days.”
“No,” I said. “You are not staying here.”
She turned her pleasant face to me.
“We will not allow black witches in our territory,” I said.
“Darling,” she said. “You already did.” She turned to walk away. “Oh, and about that meeting your mate is planning. When we act, don’t interfere.”
Shadows cloaked her. The three of us waited on Arnoldo Salas’s porch until she was gone.
“Do you know why the witch could not make you do as she asked?” Stefan asked Salas.
Salas let air out through his nose like a spooked horse. “My mother had the pope bless me when I was a child. She asked him to bless me that witchcraft would not touch me or my children. It is a story my father liked to tell. My mother was afraid of witches.”
“Me, too,” I said, still looking around.
“She is gone,” Stefan said.
“You’re sure?” I asked.
He nodded. “I am certain.”
“Mr. Salas,” I said earnestly. “Do you have the ability to leave town for a week or two? You’ve caught the attention of the witches and I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
He nodded. “I have some vacation coming. My wife’s mother lives in California, and she has been asking us to come visit.”
“I would go.”
His mouth tightened. “It does not make me happy to leave the field because of a witch.”
“You have a family to protect,” I said.
“I can leave for two weeks. I have neighbors who can mind our place, but we still have to come home.”
“That will give her time to forget about you,” said Stefan. “Why don’t you call Mercy when you are ready to head back?”
“And if no one answers,” I told him grimly, “maybe you should consider staying away. I have a feeling that she’s not going to forget about you very easily.”
* * *
• • •
All of the lights were blazing at the Salas household when we left. I didn’t blame him in the least.
I called Adam’s cell phone and left the message that I was headed home. I called Warren’s phone and left the same message. Feeling Stefan’s attention on the matter, I said, “My recent kidnapping has left everyone a little on edge. So I check in.”
He nodded.
Eventually he asked, “What do you intend to do about the witches?”
“Not my call,” I told him. “I’ll let Adam know and he’ll take it from there.”
Not that I wouldn’t give him suggestions. I hesitated, but I needed to talk this out. And Stefan had a tactical mind—he could pick out things that I missed sometimes.
“Why didn’t the witch just pick up the phone and call us? Our pack isn’t exactly hiding out. She killed the goats, turned them into zombies, to get our attention? That is a serious waste of power right before what might be a real fight. Killing Elizaveta’s people would get our attention all on its own. She doesn’t make sense. But, Stefan, she wasn’t lying.”
“Just because something is stupid doesn’t mean it is not true,” said Stefan.
I tapped my fingers on the dashboard. “No, but it’s still stupid.” I thought a little more. “I can understand tonight—just now at Salas’s house. There was no power wasted. She was testing us, to see if we would protect someone who we met just this morning.”
“Probing for weakness, yes,” said Stefan. “I agree. I have another thought you are not going to like. She meant to take the boy—you could see it in her. She took the goats as revenge because that boy stood up to her. She tested the father, but it didn’t anger her. She expected it. Witches have different affinities, but most of them are good with things like bloodline powers.”
“The boy resisted her—and she divined that it was something that might run in his family?” I asked. “Because she could normally control someone? If she asked someone to come to her, they would have to do it?” I swallowed. “I thought they needed artifacts—like the collar Bonarata had on that poor werewolf in Italy.”
“For werewolves,” he said. “But people with no magic?” He shrugged. At least he didn’t sound happy about it. “If it helps,” he added, “it is a rare thing. Back in the days when covens dotted the landscape of Europe, they were highly prized. They called them Love Talkers.”
“Love Talkers are fae,” I told him. “And they are male.”
“In fairy tales,” he said. “But most of those stories are about witches, not the fae. And I think it is one of the few witch traits that is equally strong in men and women.”
I supposed if Baba Yaga was fae, it was only fair that some of the stories about the fae were really about witches.
He continued, “We are safe enough, but I am not sure a blessing, even one given by the pope, could make a human resistant to witchcraft.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “But witchborn families can be resistant to magic.”