Page 140 of Threadbound

Jamie looked up, shielding his eyes as the downbeats of Bran’s massive wings stirred up snow and bits of dead leaves and grasses. He set himself down away from them and the water’s frozen edge, giving them space, his massive head tilted to the side, one burning green eye fixed on Jamie.

Sensing this was important—like a test, of sorts—Jamie walked up to the beast and held out Bran’s coat. “I, uh, assume you’re going to want this. So we can go back to the hotel.” He didn’t point out that Bran couldn’t possibly stay in this form.

One green eye studied him.

Jamie wasn’t sure whether or not he passed the test, but Bran closed his eye and then… folded in on himself, feathers and wings and claws becoming flesh and skin.

Jamie immediately put the coat around Bran’s naked form, already shivering, although whether from cold or exhaustion or both Jamie wasn’t sure. “Can’t you spin clothes?” he asked softly.

The eye that reopened showed exhaustion, but Bran nodded once, his fingers sluggishly gesturing, causing fabric to appear—dark jeans, a dark sweater, boots. The eye closed again.

“Can I help?” Jamie asked, his hands already on Bran’s waist and shoulder.

Bran’s eyes reopened, heavy-lidded and bleary. He nodded, and Jamie half-hauled him to his feet, holding him close and supporting his weight.

Rob and Trixie approached, more cautiously than Jamie had. Wordlessly, Rob held out the gold coins the ashray had placed on the ice.

Bran took them with a shaking hand and slid them into a pocket. They’d gotten what they came for, although Jamie wasn’t at all sure he liked the cost.

Chapter

Forty-Seven

“So how exactly do we find a witch?” Rob asked as they took stock late that night. The question was directed at Bran, who was wrapped up in a blanket and pulled up against Jamie’s chest, although he still shivered occasionally, and his skin was far colder than Jamie liked. His plunge into the icy loch had absolutely left him worse for the wear, and Jamie suspected—although he hadn’t really had the chance to ask, since he was pretty sure Bran wouldn’t want to discuss it in front of Rob and Trixie—that it was more than that. Whatever magic he’d done, in addition to shifting into his boobrie form, to appease or threaten or intimidate the ashrays had drained him of strength and energy.

They’d taken a room in a house-turned-hostel near the entrance to the reserve, all four of them packed together with two double beds in a room that looked like it was still in the 1960s, not that any of them had been alive then. Jamie had immediately ordered Bran into a hot shower in the bathroom down the hall, while Rob and Trixie had gone to pick up food after they’d ordered takeout from the nearest restaurant, which was about a fifteen-minute drive away. Jamie had gotten Branout of the shower and dressed, making him add one of Jamie’s heavy sweaters over his spun knit pants and cotton shirt.

And then Jamie had wrapped him in the bed’s comforter, then wrapped himself around Bran to take away the chill. Bran had fallen asleep half-curled against his chest, and Jamie tried not to worry too much. Bran had awakened when Trixie and Rob returned with bulging bags of food, much to Jamie’s relief, and stayed awake after dinner, although he did continue to lean heavily against Jamie’s larger body.

Trixie was the one who’d wanted to do a deliberate inventory of all the ingredients, and had pulled out a little box of plastic baggies and a sharpie. Rob’s question—“So how exactly do we find a witch?”—had been spurred by the fact that the holly was supposed to have pricked a witch’s thumb.

Bran met Rob’s grey gaze. “I dinna know,” he replied.

“Well, aren’t there witches in… wherever you’re from?” Trixie asked.

Bran shook his head. “No. Witches are humans—well, part-humans.”

“Part-humans?” Rob repeated.

“Aye. Humans with magic always have fae blood—maybe a parent, maybe a distant ancestor. But they’re always part fae.”

Jamie wondered whether or not those people—especially the ones with distant fae ancestors—even knew they were fae, or witches, either, for that matter.

“And there aren’t humans there?” Trixie wanted to know.

“Not that I know of,” Bran answered. “I know there have been—there are stories and legends about witches who came to Elfhame in the distant past.”

Jamie wondered what had happened to them.

“They died?” Trixie guessed.

“Some of them,” Bran replied. “Others chose to return to Dunehame.” He shrugged. “Some may still be living, for all I know.”

“What’s that mean? Still?” Rob demanded. “Is it dangerous to come back from… Elfhame or wherever?”

“Not particularly,” Bran told them. “Some half-breeds link their lives to ours, and they can live as long as we. So those who die either chose to die or suffered an accident or… deliberate injury.”

“Someone killed them, you mean,” Rob said.