Page 6 of His Whispered Witch

“That’s a werewolf,” Annie said casually, and Penn spun around.

She’d never actually seen one before.

“Where?”

Annie subtly pointed as she faced away, and Penn’s eyes scanned the other side of the street.

She saw massive crowds.

“Where?”

“The blonds.”

Blonds. Plural. There was more than one werewolf walking down the street.

She zeroed in on a family led by an older man with four or five kids. They were dressed in homemade and perhaps even homespun clothing, rough and beige. She wanted to ask Annie how she knew they were wolves, because they didn’t look any different from anybody else, but then she watched the patriarch scan the street and looked away. There was a presence to him and, she realized belatedly, magic.

She gasped. He was overflowing with animal magic—her magic. Well, not hers exactly, but witch’s magic.

“What the hell?”

She wanted to get closer and investigate. Why would a shifter have magic? Werewolves and witches had nothing to do with one another. They were mortal, historical enemies. It was only the peace of a long-dead treaty that kept wolves from slaughtering them.

She almost told Annie what she sensed, but then cowbells rang out like crazy, and everyone’s eyes snapped to the road. How long did it take to run fifteen miles? They were already back.

Penn had to bite her lip to keep from laughing as the first running pairs rounded the corner onto Main Street. Someone had started playing the theme fromChariots of Fireas exhausted, sweat-drenched runners dragged or were dragged by riled donkeys down the street, clanking with gold mining equipment.

She loved animals. She had always loved all animals, but one dirty little secret was that she probably loved humans the most. Her species came up with by far the weirdest ways of entertaining themselves in the world.

Truly, who did this?

She also laughed to cover her disappointment, because Gary—with his tie-dyed T-shirt, khaki shorts, terrible running shoes, and confused donkey—wasn’t anywhere in sight.

Then she saw him round the corner, beet red from exertion or sunburn. Then he started passing the leaders dressed in high-tech marathon gear as their donkeys shied from the crowds. Silver heehawed and spooked the leader’s mount that hadn’t been trained for this at all. It wheeled in circles, and Gary took the lead.

Penn found herself shouting and whooping as he charged over the finish line.

Annie gripped her shoulders, screaming, “You won! You won!”

“It was all Silver!” Penn shouted.

She scampered down the street to meet Gary near the finish line, where exhausted mammals were staggering across the line on two and four feet.

Gary was in a pocket of people shouting and cheering for him, and she joined the throng.

She was just happy to be a part of it and hoped she could hand out a few more business cards when Gary caught sight of her, and his eyes lit up.

“You all asked what my secret weapon was, and here she is!”

She was pulled forward and only just avoided getting plastered against his horrifically sweaty side. “Penny Young! Donkey psychiatrist!”

Penn winced, both at the nickname and the title. “It’s Penn. And I’m an animalpsychologist.” She didn’t know why she bothered. She’d made up that title, too.

“So what did you give him?” somebody shouted.

“Yeah, if you’re a psychiatrist, what drugs do you got?”

“Gary hasn’t won in twenty years of trying. He’s never even finished, and you’re telling me now he wins the whole thing. What the hell did you give that donkey?”

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