Page 36 of Grace of a Wolf 2
"Isabeau," I sigh. "Still going for the creepy Victorian doll aesthetic, I see."
Her face contorts with rage, her eyes crimson with madness.
Again; she's bad at learning her lessons.
"Echo Witch," she snarls, and I bow.
"In the flesh."
With a shriek, she lifts her hands, and the blood pooling around her feet rises in dozens of crimson missiles, hurtling toward me at killing velocity.
I stop them mid-air with a lazy wave and slight fluctuation of arcana, transforming the attack into a suspended crimson constellation. Pretty, in a macabre sort of way.
"Missed me, Belle?" I grin, using the nickname she's always hated. "It's been what—Leipzig, 1843? You were selling werewolf children to aristocrats as exotic pets back then, too. At least be original."
"You interfering bitch." Her voice doesn't match her childlike appearance—deep, rasping, ancient, with a faint French accent. Creepy, but my spine refuses to tingle. "This territory is protected. You have no right—"
"Protected by whom?" I interrupt, walking casually around the suspended blood droplets. "Your new wolf friends? The ones currently eating dirt in your hallway?"
She snarls, fingers twitching as she attempts another spell. I shut it down before she can finish the first weave of magic, compressing the air around us until the pressure makes her gasp.
"Two hundred years, Belle. Two hundred years since I last caught you doing this exact same shit, and you haven't learned a thing." I click my tongue in disappointment. "Still the same parlor tricks. Still the same business model. Still the same terrible security."
"What I do is necessary," she hisses through clenched teeth. "The balance—"
"Save the lecture. I've heard it from better witches than you." I release the pressure just enough to let her breathe. "What you're doing isn't balance. It's exploitation wrapped in mystical bullshit to make yourself feel better about being a glorified supernatural trafficker."
I move toward her, closing the distance until we're inches apart. Up close, the illusion of youth slips—ancient malice gleams in her eyes. Those who wax poetic liken them to rubies, but they've always been the color of blood.
"Here's what you never understood about the 'natural order,' Belle." I lean in, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Nothing about it says I can't rip your still-beating heart from your chest and feed it to you."
She flinches, and I smile.
"Now, let's discuss why your disgusting scent is all over this city. It took me a little time to find you, I'll grant you that. The only thing you've learned in two hundred years is how to hide."
Chapter seventeen
Lyre: Something Wicked This Way Comes (II)
LYRE
"You have no authority here, Echo Witch." Her eyes narrow, as she steps back. Her feet are bare, and blood squishes between her toes as she steps in a small puddle of it. "This territory is claimed, these creatures are bound, and you have no standing to interfere."
I release the suspended blood with a flick of my wrist, letting it splash to the ground in a wet slap. "Claimed? By whom, exactly? Last time I checked, America wasn't your playground."
"America." She snorts, circling me with wary steps. "You speak as if you have some claim to it. Where have you been, Lyrielle? Over a century of silence, and now you appear with demands?"
“You don’t get answers, Isabeau.” I scuff one of her blood sigils with the toe of my boot. The symbol sputters and shudders as its magic fractures. “Why here? Europe’s full of dark little corners better suited for your brand of rot.”
Her laugh is like gravel dragged across concrete. It’s always been unpleasant—an ugly sound to match her uglier soul.
"Perhaps I wanted a taste of American hospitality. The wolves here are so... accommodating."
I grimace. I'm sure she ran here with her tail between her legs, looking for fresh meat. Fed until she could walk upright again.
Rebuilding her strength must’ve taken effort. Not like it’ll help her now.
“Mmm.” Her tongue drags over too-sharp teeth. “Such enterprising creatures. Always chasing more—time, power, life. Is it really so monstrous to give them what they want?”
