Page 43 of Touch of Evil

It’s only because she says, “need,” that I start to understand. “Because of my power and who I know.”

“Yes,” Merche says. “If you’re not around and Una manages to hurt your pregnant sister, you won’t be able to save her. The Mate and her baby will die, and the dark ones will finally respect Una.”

Chapter Twelve

Emme

It takes a while for me to move. Rage has a funny way of keeping me in place. How dare she? How dare they?

“They won’t go after Celia.”

“She’s well protected by the wolf and his pack,” Farrah agrees. “But Una has a plan—”

“You don’t understand,” I snap. “She won’t go after Celia because I won’t allow it.” I permit my protective streak to come forward and vanquish that guilt that frequently haunts me, the one attached to blood and death. “My sister and her baby are going to live. No matter what I have to do, they will share a lifetime together. Every mother and child deserve as much.”

Merche shakes her head. “You don’t understand Una. She’s strong, vicious, as if all the wrongness from our strongest brethren collected into one being.”

“I don’t care. Whatever Una is, she won’t be enough,” I tell them. “I’ll kill her before she can think of attacking Celia.”

Neither appear to believe my words or think I have it in me. That’s their problem. Not mine.

“What’s her weakness?” I ask.

Merche averts her chin. “She doesn’t really have one,” she mumbles.

“Yes, she does,” I disagree. “Her magic is pathetic at best if she’s nothing alone. What else? We all have weaknesses. Tell me something I can use, and I may be able to help you out of this mess.”

Farrah splashes more water on her face and hurries to me. She motions to her features, her movements excited and hopeful. She might be smiling. Never mind, she found a worm to munch on.

“You can help us?” she asks between slurps. “You know magic—magic that can reverse all this?”

I watch what’s left of the worm disappear into her mouth.Not even a little bit, girlfriends.

“No,” I confess. “But Genevieve does.”

My words are meant to reassure them that I’m an asset and that I can help. That’s not how they take it. They cower. It’s then I notice Merche’s tail. She tucks it between her legs and backs away from me.

“She knows Tahoe’s Head Witch,” Merche squeaks to Farrah. “And she calls her by her first name.”

“Shecan hear you,” I say. “And, yes, I know Genevieve.”

“And she knows you, too?” Farrah presses. “You didn’t just meet her in passing?”

“Genevieve very much knows who I am,” I reply.

My relationship with Genevieve was always cordial. She respects us, especially Celia. But I’m neither a witch who reports to her nor someone required to grovel to win her favor. For the first time, I realize exactly how much other witches esteem and fear her.

“She’s actually very nice,” I add, trying to soothe their unease. I give it some thought when I take another gander at their, um, conditions. “To me.”

Farrah tugs on Merche’s sleeve. “The great Genevieve will kill us. She has to for the crimes we’ve committed.”

“Not necessarily,” I claim.

I’m starting to lose them and work to steady my voice. “The witches, especially Genevieve, are part of our alliance, and we’re part of theirs.” I ease closer to them with my hands out. “If you help me, if you do all you can to get me out of this situation, I’ll speak to her on your behalf.”

“But you’re no one,” Farrah says. “You’re just the sister of the Mate who carries the Chosen One.”

Warmth encases every part of me, and despite the cold, you could likely grill a steak on my face. I straighten, allowing my anger to dissolve my passivity and give me the mettle I require. “If I was no one, you wouldn’t have a need for me, would you?” I ask. “But I am someone.”

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