Page 89 of Grace of a Wolf 1
"How does it work?" Jack-Eye asks after a moment, turning to face Thom. "Your tracking. Is it by scent, like us?"
The warlock seems grateful for the change in subject, judging by the relief in his voice. "No, not scent. It's essence. Everything that exists occupies not just physical space but essentialistic space as well. Every living thing disrupts the essence of an area simply by existing within it."
Jack-Eye's brow furrows. "Like mana? In those, what do you call them… video games?"
"It's called by many names. Mana, ether, chi, prana." Thom's hands flutter as he explains, then fall back to his lap, trembling. "But it all boils down to the energy something holds within the world. Your... Grace... has a particularly distinct essence. Bright. Unusual for a human."
I file this information away, another puzzle piece I don't yet know where to place.
Jack-Eye whistles low. "Must be nice, tracking something so clearly. We lose scent trails all the time."
Thom's laugh is hollow. "It comes at a price."
I glance in the rearview mirror. The warlock's skin holds the pallor of old parchment, bluish veins visible at his temples. His eyes are sunken, rimmed with dark circles. Hours ago, when I first dragged him from Forest Springs, he'd been merely nervous. Now he looks half-dead.
"I'll need at least a week to recover from today's work." His hands tremble more violently as he shoves his glasses up his nose again. "The spell consumes my own essence to track another's. A fair trade, usually, but the distance was... substantial."
Jack-Eye shoots me a look. I can't see it, but I can feel it in the back of my head. He probably feels bad for Thom, but I can't pretend to feel anything for his suffering. The warlock is a tool, nothing more—a means to reclaim what's mine.
You should care more,Fenris murmurs.Magic users are rare. Breaking this one won't serve you. They're weak, but they can be useful. His talent is a good one to keep around.
I scoff. My wolf acts as if I've done something terrible.I didn't break him. He's doing his job.
And if his job kills him?
My fingers tap against the wheel again.Then I'll find another.
The GPS announces our exit, and I take the turn sharper than necessary. Thom grunts as he's thrown against the door.
"There." He points with a shaking finger toward a green sign illuminated in our headlights. "Pinewood Campground, next right."
My pulse quickens. We're close enough now that I can almost taste her in the air, a ghostly imitation of blueberry sweetness with each breath.
That's the pillow,Fenris says, pragmatic as always.
Grace's pillow sits in the passenger seat, buckled in to keep it from falling onto the ground. Jack-Eye knew better than to saya word when he saw it, but Thom had the audacity to say it wouldn't help him track her any better.
It's a silly thing to bring along, but the scent wafting off it is the only thing keeping me calm and in control, like a fresh breeze coming through a bloody field of thoughts.
The brief hint of sanity is something I haven't felt since before Fenris's voice came into my head. Before the weight of my crown wore down my soul.
It's a peace I never felt, not evenbefore.
Because Grace is the one.
I rub my temple with a sigh. Arguing with Fenris only makes the headache worse.
Chapter forty-seven
Caine: Knock Like a Normal Person
The campground entrance is easy to miss, hidden in the darkness without any streetlights to mark it. Thankfully, many of the campers parked here have LED lighting strips along their rigs, and I slow before I miss the turn.
"Where?" I demand.
Thom closes his eyes, concentrating. "Keep going. She'll be on our left. I'll know when we get closer."
I drive deeper into the campground, wheels crunching on gravel. Rolling my window down seems like a mistake at first.The place reeks of humans—their food, their waste, their cheap alcohol. But beneath it all, I catch hints of her scent, growing stronger.
