Page 49 of Wind Whisperer

“Using what powers?”

She shook her head. “No powers. Nothing to speak of anyway.”

“And yet, your father is a warlock.”

“I don’t take after that side of the family.”

I pounced on that opening. “What about your mother? Is she a witch?”

Erin’s features went hard. “What she is doesn’t matter.”

“Maybe it does.”

“Nothing about her is relevant.” Erin’s fiery reply practically slammed me backward. “She’s barely even a mother.”

Ouch. Definitely a sore point.

I went on more gently. “I’m just trying to understand how this all fits together. You said it yourself — if we’re going to stop Harlon, we have to share what we know.”

She shook her head firmly. “We share what’s relevant. And my mother is no more relevant to this than the color of my underwear.”

And,whoosh!Off went my dragon with his own sultry fantasies.

Ivory, with beige trim.

“Color of your underwear, huh?”

“Just a random example.” She crossed her arms, putting a firm end to that subject. “There. I’ve shared what I know. Your turn.”

I blinked, trying to get my mind off her panties. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Who are you?Whatare you?”

I scratched my chin, buying time. How much could I afford to reveal?

She huffed, impatient. “Okay, let me narrow it down for you. You’re not human. Not a warlock. Not a vampire. That leaves shifter. The question is, what kind?”

I went very, very still, half hoping she would guess, half hoping to protect my secret. One of them anyway.

“How much do you know about shifters?” I ventured.

She squared her jaw. “Enough.”

A bluff, and I knew it. Well, I could bluff too.

“If I saidwolf…” I suggested, watching her carefully.

My dragon grumbled.You must be joking.

“And wolves are somehow immune to warlocks?” She wrinkled her nose as if to test my scent, then nodded, cutting me to the bone. Did she really take me for a lowly canine?

I instantly regretted my words, sensing they could come back to bite me — no pun intended. But it was too late now, so I nodded. “With training, yes.”

“What about vampires?” She leaned closer. “You know, like whatshername. Angelina. Are you immune to them?”

And, ouch. If thecaninepart stung, the reminder of Angelina was a full-body slam against a brick wall.

“No. Not immune,” I admitted through clenched teeth.

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