Inquisitor (Witch & Wolf Book 1) (36 page)

The witches of Slide Mountain had called the early winter, putting things into motion that they could not stop or control. They had done so despite my interference.

My duty was to set things right, whether or not the humans suffered as a result.

I hated the autumn, but I had to let stay for its full turn of the seasons, so there could be a true winter, a spring, and a summer when they were due.

Francine was right. People would die in the streets if they didn’t find shelter.

But if the winter came early, what would happen in the next year, or the year after? A quick death of a few in the cold was a small price to pay to ensure the survival of the crops to come.

If Samantha was alive, I suspected she would have agreed. Samantha had been a smart, wise witch.

She had been
my
witch.

I closed my eyes and faced the grief I couldn’t let go of. Samantha would have known to check the weather. She would have seen what Francine did not.

Samantha would have recognized the truth, and she would have encouraged me to do as I had done. She would have stayed with me through it all, grieving for those who would inevitably die so others could live. Without the harvests of future years, thousands or millions would die if the summer turned to drought or the spring floods washed away the crops instead of nurturing their growth.

What happened to the east coast of the United States would impact the entire world.

“What do we do?” the woman in the crowd of witches demanded.

Francine sighed. “Divide yourselves into groups based on your elements. Think of ways you can help mitigate the impact of the storms. That is all we can do. Each group is to send someone to me in four hours.”

“What about the Caretaker of the Seasons?” a soft voice called out from the back of the group.

I put my ears back and turned my head away from the witches. They didn’t know who I was, but the desperate hope in the question hurt. Revealing myself to them was equivalent to suicide.

“Don’t rely a thing of legend and myth. We can rely only on ourselves. Now, go.”

The coven scattered. Francine stared down at me. “If she existed, I doubt she would help us anyway. Maybe we deserve this, for all of the things we have done.”

I cocked my head to the side, meeting her gaze with a single eye. I couldn’t say anything, but I wouldn’t, even if I had a human voice to speak with. Francine was right, although for all of the wrong reasons.

I couldn’t help them.

I hadn’t founded Marrodin out of greed, although I was plenty wealthy. The Inquisition would never understand my motivations. That was fine by me.

All of the power I’d ever had, all of the strength I could’ve rallied, it all belonged to the storms. That was the price of my magic. Once I committed myself, once I decided on a course, I couldn’t change my mind. I could make alterations. I could divert—a little.

Nature always faced the consequences of humanity’s actions. As the Caretaker of the Seasons, I had to see my summoning through to the bitter end, no matter what the consequences were.

~*~

The hurricane drew closer. My body burned, all of my energy sucked right out of me, fueling the encroaching storm. I lay flopped on a rug, incapable of doing more than watch as the infrequent passerby scurried across the room.

“What on Earth are you doing? You crazy wolf.” James stood over me, his arms once again crossed over his chest. He stretched his leg out to nudge my side with his toe. “You’re in the way.”

I huffed, but I didn’t get up.

“You may as well leave her,” Francine said with a shake of her head. “She’s not going to bother anyone. I’d rather have my eye on her. Some of my brothers and sisters are displeased with her. I can’t guarantee her safety.”

James snorted his disgust. “Of course you can’t. You didn’t have to tell anyone she’d killed that damned witch.”

Francine sniffed. “That is not fair to my brothers and sisters.”

If James had fur, I imagined James’s hackles would’ve been standing straight on end. “And it isn’t fair to her brothers and sisters who are hunted by your kind. She killed Mrs. Livingston. So what? We would’ve killed her otherwise.”

“She is no longer a human.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Who are we to judge?”

“James, it’s unnatural. Werewolves are cursed humans, not wolves.” Francine refused to look either one of us in the eye.

“Not all of us were forced into the ritual,” James whispered.

“Name one werewolf who wasn’t.”

“My father before me wasn’t. But the Inquisition killed him because he was a threat. My mother wasn’t forced, either. Guess what? She’s dead too, at the Inquisition’s hands. No surprise there. If I go against your wishes, it’ll be me next. You know what civilized people call that, Francine? Slavery.”

Francine kept her eyes averted. “You were changed against your will, though.”

“What of it, Francine? Remember, witch, if you cross the Inquisition, you won’t be a predator anymore either. You’ll be prey.” James stepped over me, sinking down on one of the couches nearby.

“I know.”

“Then act like you know. You outed her with the witches on purpose. Your sister murdered innocents. She forced me and others to do the same. Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

Francine lowered her head and said nothing.

“Enough fighting,” a gruff voice snapped. A tall man with black hair touched by gray strode into the room. He wore the sort of business suit not even my board members liked paying the steep prices for. He halted, his gaze falling onto me. “Why is there a dog in
my
office?”

“Lupus Dirus hybrid, sir,” Francine murmured.

“A what?”

The witch swallowed. “A dire wolf, sir.”

“My black lab is larger. What is it doing in my office?” The man shifted his weight. I kept still, tensing in case I needed to roll and dodge a kick.

“She killed Mrs. Livingston, sir. I couldn’t put her in holding. The other witches would surely execute her.” Francine’s lie soured her scent.

James made a growling noise in his throat, but didn’t correct the woman. Fear radiated from the British man.

“Is that so? How curious.”

When I wasn’t kicked, I forced my muscles to relax, stretching out with a yawn. James flinched at my movement before he said, “It was self defense, sir.”

“I’m sure it was. I fear more are upset at being robbed of the chance to kill that old hag than they are over the fact that she is dead,” the man replied, tone lightening with amusement. “Very well. Get her out of here after the storm ends and take her back to her pack, then. Livingston is a thorn out of my side.”

“You don’t want her?” Francine’s voice rose in surprise.

“There is only one wolf I want, Francine.” The man’s tone lowered, fringing on an aggressive growl. “Don’t forget your place.”

“Yes, sir,” the witch whispered.

“Any progress on the storm?”

Francine’s fear reeked. I sneezed, draping my paws over my muzzle to fend away the stench. “It’s getting worse, sir.”

“And what are you planning on doing about it?”

“We’re working to lessen the brunt of impact, sir. The fire witches will focus on raising the temperature, while water and earth witches divert the flood waters.”

Even I flinched at the anger in the man’s narrowed eyes. “So you can’t stop it?”

“No, sir, we can’t.”

“There are easily sixty of your coven in this compound, and you’re telling me there is nothing you can do except mitigate the damage?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

“We’re witches, not wizards, sir,” Francine whispered.

“Explain.”

“Wizards don’t have the limitations we do. I can see things, but little else. My coven is the same. Weather witches are rare. Wizards who can work the weather are rarer still.”

“What of the Winter Wolf?”

I raised my head in surprise, ears twisted back at the mention of the other werewolf. Francine had spoken of the Winter Wolf once, but I hadn’t put much thought into it. The woman had come and gone, vanishing off of the face of the Earth a few years ago, leaving enough mystery in her wake that I wasn’t sure if she was just a legend or not. She was a lot like me in that regard.

I hoped she remained lost to the world forever, hidden and safe from the Inquisition.

If—no,
when
—they figured out who I was, there would be reason enough for worry. They didn’t need a wizard wolf and a witch wolf. The Inquisition had enough power under its thumb in the form of entire witch covens.

“I don’t think the Winter Wolf could help us anyway,” James said in a timid voice. “Fire, ice, and plague aren’t exactly what we need. She causes snowstorms; I don’t think she stops them. Good luck getting past her mate, too. No amount of money in the world is enough to talk me into making a run at
him
. Sorry, boss.”

“I understand.” The man’s eyes focused on me. Baring my teeth at him earned me an arched brow. “You said she’s a dire wolf?”

“A hybrid, sir, from the looks of her.” Francine sank back into the couch.

“I was under the belief that dire wolves were extinct.”

“They are,” Francine confirmed.

The skeptical glare shifted from me to the witch. I flicked an ear. If the man was a werewolf, he’d be a force to be reckoned with, considering how Francine recoiled from his stare. Whoever he was, he was definitely dominant.

I stood, shaking myself off. Three pairs of eyes snapped to me as I stepped forward. I breathed deep. The scent of humans and wolves filled my nose. I couldn’t tell if James’s scent clung to the man or if he was a werewolf masking his scent.

Our eyes met. Crouching down in front of me, he held out his hand. With as much dignity as I could muster, I placed my paw on his palm. He curled his fingers, lifting my paw to kiss my fur. “My name is Devonshire, Lady Wolf. Carl Devonshire. I thank you for the service you have done us. Mad witches, like mad wolves, should be put down.”

Devonshire’s grip on my paw tightened. His eyes darkened. So close, I couldn't mistake the faint scent of repressed wolf.

James cleared his throat. “I, unfortunately, do not know her name.”

“She is not the one who has been performing the rituals. She is far too small. Bitches have other ways of building new packs. I can’t imagine her having the violence needed to dominate so many new wolves in such short order. That’s a lot of power needed,” Devonshire said.

I kept still, hiding my reactions by freezing in place.

“Tell that to Olivia,” Francine muttered.

“Any wolf would attack to defend themselves or their pack. That doesn’t mean she is capable of performing the ritual on unwilling victims.”

Francine turned her head, making a soft growling noise. “That doesn’t mean she isn’t capable of it.”

“Until she returns to her human form, we have no proof.” There was a long pause. Once again, everyone stared at me. Devonshire’s voice turned cold. “If she can turn into a human at all.”

I bared my fangs at him.

“She’s either unwilling or unable,” James said, wrinkling his nose.

“Leave us.” Devonshire snapped his fingers, gesturing towards the door. “I will speak to her. Alone.”

James shifted on the sofa, glancing at the door before his gaze settled on me. “But—”

“Out.”

Both the witch and the wolf jumped to their feet and hurried to the door. The scent of their fear made me sneeze. Devonshire followed them at a sedate pace, waiting for them to leave before locking the door. He turned to me. “I’ve worked too hard trying to restore order to the packs to be undermined by some new bitch. What are you doing on my turf? I’ll look the other way regarding the death of my witch, but I won’t tolerate a rogue in my territory. Change, and we’ll talk.”

I somehow managed to resist the urge to snarl at him. Being a rogue was bad enough. Being identified as a rogue while surrounded by Inquisitors could be the end of me. What I did to Mrs. Livingston would look like child’s play, unless the Inquisition had changed a lot in the past hundred years. I doubted that.

As a human, however, I could talk to him. Maybe he wouldn’t smell the lies I’d have to tell, one piled onto the other until the truth was the rotten center hidden under a seemingly healthy exterior.

If I were smart, I’d live long enough to find out how bad the storm I had summoned was. If I were wise, I would live long enough to avenge Samantha’s death.

Realistically, he’d probably call in the coven to deal with me one way or another.

However, his tone and confidence in knowing I wasn’t the one creating werewolves roused my suspicion. Who else would know except for the one doing it? If Devonshire was the one creating wild, uncontrolled wolves and then killing off those who couldn’t change back on their own, my only chance for survival was to prove I could become human again.