Page 53 of His Whispered Witch

Annie’s eyes rounded in her head. “He’s with you.”

“We’re talking about it.”

“I mean, he’s outside.”

Penn felt her cheeks heat as she nodded and hurried back toward the front of the house. The old dog loped along beside her. It was as tall as her elbow.

“Asher!” she shouted when she hit the porch, suddenly terrified he was gone, but he stepped around the tree. Annie froze beside her.

“He doesn’t look like a werewolf.”

Penn glanced sharply down at her. “He is.”

“Really?”

“I know he is,” Penn said again, thinking of the gray wolf in the moonlight. “Like, Iknow.”

“Is something wrong?” Asher asked quickly, and his warm tones washed over her.

“No! Well yes. I’m fine, but I need you.”

He took one step forward and froze, looking at the tree. “Are you sure?”

She didn’t know how, but she could see the images flashing through his mind of the witch he almost ran over and the others in the woods. He didn’t want to hurt anyone today.

“There’s no other way,” she said, meaning both that she needed his help and that getting that book was going to be worth it. She spared a glance at Annie. “Seriously, get out of here.”

Annie threw her arms around her and hugged her tightly.

“Be well,” Annie said into her ear, and Penn just nodded, her throat tight. They both knew it was goodbye.

“You have my number, if anything happens…” Penn said. She wanted to say that she would help if Annie was going to do what Penn was fairly certain she was contemplating. If she succeeded, the girl wouldn’t be far behind her in the banished Olympics, but they didn’t have the time, nor the relationship.

Annie nodded once and dashed down the steps and away. Asher watched her pass him, his hands looped behind his back as if he could make himself harmless by hunching his shoulders.

She followed Annie off the porch and met him at the edge of the lawn.

She braced for another question or hesitation, but he just said, “Ready?”

She nodded once and reached out a hand.

He took it and stepped after her.

They both shuddered as the air convulsed. It was impossible to describe, but it felt like someone had turned on a massive fan blowing straight at them, though there was no breeze.

“Whoa,” he said and squeezed her hand.

She pulled him toward the door. It felt like they were walking through a swamp, every step harder. She knew other silent alarms were going off, so she tried to hurry, but it was so hard. In a breath, she was on the ground. It took her a second to realize he had pulled her down.

“What the—” she began and then looked up to see a swinging scythe.

She blinked twice. “I hope they never get a girl selling cookies.”

He rolled her away as spikes began stabbing up through the grass.

They staggered up the stairs, which were suddenly liquid beneath them, and blasted through the door.

Inside, honking alarms blared and lights flashed. The Irish hound reared on his hind legs, looking like some prehistoric creature, before catching sight of Asher, howling in fear, and running away.

---