Page 20 of Witch's Wolf

I stiffen, my heartbeat quickening. She knows. Of course she knows. I purse my lips, frowning, caught between annoyance and being impressed.

“So,” she continues, her voice deceptively light. “I thought it was time we talked. In private.”

“Why in private?” Sam’s question is laced with suspicion, his posture tense.

Helena tilts her head, considering him for a moment before replying.

“Because some truths aren’t meant for prying eyes. Or ears.”

A chill runs down my spine as Helena’s sharp eyes lock onto mine, pinning me in place and twisting my stomach into knots.

“What kind of truths?” I manage to ask, though my voice barely rises above a whisper.

She doesn’t answer immediately, her smile faint and enigmatic.

“The kind that change everything.”

Her voice is calm, but there’s an undercurrent of power, like a storm waiting to break. Sam’s presence at my side is solid and grounding, but it does little to ease the dread creeping up my spine.

“Bring the box and come inside, Erica. I’ll show you,” Helena says, gesturing toward the dark tunnel behind her. Sam heads into the opening but Helena puts her arm out and stops him. “No, second son.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?” he huffs.

“This is a delicate matter. We girls need to talk. Alone,” Helena says.

“Girls? You’re a hundred-and?—”

“I know how old I am,” she interrupts with a glare. She holds her hand out to me. “Come dear, let the pup head back to Dawson.”

Nervous, I look from Sam to Helena, then back again. This is it. I either face up to what I might or might not be, or I go running back to the city. Despite this feeling of dread or maybe because of it, I take the box from Sam, tucking it under my arm, and place my hand in Helena’s and follow her through the broken gate.

Sam growls softly but doesn’t follow. I look over my shoulder, wishing that none of this was the way it is. Sam’s jaw is tight as he glares at Helena. He balls his hands into fists at his sides, like he’s barely holding himself back. Helena drags on my arm, and I have to turn to keep from being pulled off balance. I leave Sam behind and go with her.

Destiny, here I come. Please don’t be a bitch.

11

ERICA

Helena smiles and then snaps her fingers. A metallicclangechoes through the hall. I whip around, my pulse jumping as I watch the iron gate lowering, sealing us inside. The finality of it is like a punch to my gut. There’s no going back now.

She leads us down a long hall and into an office that I remember from my last time here. The air is heavy with a mix of must and old paper. Shelves are piled with books, tomes really, and scrolls. There are strange mementos scattered with apparent reckless abandon.

She sits down behind an ancient looking desk piled high on either side with papers. She gestures for me to take the seat in front of her. I set the box next to the desk then sit.

“How are you?” Helena asks, her tone deceptively casual.

I bark out a bitter laugh, shaking my head as I cross my arms.

“Oh, you know, not so great. It’s not every day you find out you’re a witch.”

She arches an eyebrow, her smile tightening.

“I knew it,” she mutters, almost to herself, before shaking her head with an abrupt spasm, as if shaking off some unseen frustration. “Iknewyou were a witch. Tell me,” she says, gesturing to the box, her fingers curling like she’s about to conjure something out of thin air, “what will I find in there?”

Dread coils in me. The thing looks harmless enough, but it feels like it’s watching me, waiting for me to mess up.

“Honestly? I don’t have a clue what they are or what they mean,” I say flatly and kneel before the box with stiff movements and start extracting the books. “We figured out last night that I’m the only one who can open these.”

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