Page 39 of Fae Devoted
DuPont removed the empty flute from his consort’s limp grip and tossed the fine crystal onto the closest couch. “Olivia?”
“I’m activating a privacy ward,” she said, her voice hollow but determined. “Johnnie, come closer and give me your hand.”
“Um…okay.” Would the phone function within the confines of a ward? More importantly, would Jacob stay put when Johnnie went radio silent?
Gluing her clutch to her side, she cast a wary glance over her shoulder and wiped her palm down her thigh before allowing the consort to draw her closer.
“Don’t let go, or it’ll break the spell,” Olivia explained as the spiral tip of the tattoo showing above the modest décolletage of her dress kindled, igniting a soft milky glimmer as white as her complexion.
“I understand. Don’t worry about me.” She made the comment for Jacob’s sake more than the witch’s.
Anwyll magic coiled around Johnnie’s body like a blanket of cool silk, the sensation a textural contrast to the cashmere warmth she felt during a male Ferwyn’s conversion. The smell of black licorice suffused the air, the pleasant vanilla notes of a witch’s everyday fragrance evolving to candied anise upon the activation of a spell. Johnnie wrinkled her nose; the odor reminded her of cough syrup.
“It’s up.” The triggered rune’s brilliance set Olivia’s entire throat and the golden torc embossed with the DuPont’s House symbol on her neck aglow.
Patriarch DuPont positioned himself so his curious guests couldn’t read his lips, his trembling consort still tucked beneath his arm. “Jeremiah Grayson, former Alpha of the WSC’s Grayson Pack, visited the Rivière Casino two days ago.”
“You spoke with him? Is he still here? Did he stay at your hotel or maybe with someone local? Do you remember if Jeremiah mentioned a name or where they lived? Did he say he was leaving soon or indicate a particular pack he wanted to join?” Johnnie took a breath and relaxed her grip, realizing she was squeezing Olivia’s fingers. They were ice-cold, and the witch looked seconds away from fainting. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” she said and laid her head on DuPont’s shoulder, belying the weak assertion.
“Yes, I had a brief discussion with him, and no, he didn’t stay at the Rivière,” DuPont said, distracted. His focus on his consort. “The outcast was alone and didn’t mention a future destination.”
“I don’t understand. If you can’t help me find Jeremiah, then why put up the privacy ward?” The patriarch knew something—or his consort did.
Olivia’s slack hold on her switched to a vise, the tattoo on her chest blazing like white fire. “Tell her, Julien.”
“Are you sure,ma coeur? I’ve got my people investigating.”
“I think she needs to know. No, Iknowshe does. I have this feeling,” Olivia trailed off.
Johnnie’s heart rate accelerated, and her breathing followed suit.
Witches weren’t clairvoyant. They didn’t speak prophecy or predict the future. But what the entirety of the Anwyll population did have, in varying magical degrees, was acute intuition. A type of extrasensory perception they’d learned generations ago wasn’t wise to ignore. And for whatever reason, Johnnie pinged Olivia’s Spidey senses.
“Grayson was here, but he wasn’t looking for an Alpha.” DuPont brushed his fingertips over Olivia’s cheek as though his touch could lure back the healthy tint. “He came to me about a missing child from the WSC region. A child he promised to find.”
“A pup? Whose?”Not Jeremiah’s?
“Not a Ferwyn pup, but an Anwyll around eight years old,” Olivia said, sounding steadier.
“Grayson claimed the child, Charlotte Miller, was abducted from her home several months ago. The same day her mother was murdered.” DuPont retained his proprietary hold on her waist as his consort pushed upright, preserving the privacy ward. “He believed she was brought to Michigan and asked if I knew her current location.”
“Did you hurt him?” Johnnie stared at the Dádhe patriarch, feeling the hot prick of tears. If Jeremiah accused DuPont of playing a part in the kidnapping and murder of witches, he might already be dead.
“No, I swear he left the Rivière unharmed,” Olivia said, expression sincere.
Johnnie closed her eyes, exhaling a relieved breath before opening them once again. “Why would Jeremiah assume you had knowledge of an abducted young witch, patriarch?”
“Not a young witch, but an untrainedwitchlingseveral years from her first Inscription.” Olivia found it necessary to emphasize.
Johnnie wondered how the initial tattoo Anwyll children received at the onset of puberty made any difference in the child’s tragic story but remained silent as she waited for DuPont to answer.
“The same reason you came to me asking about yourfriend’sbrother,” he said, displaying a hint of fang. “It’s my business to know everything that’s going on in my region, my city, and my casino. And if I don’t, I make it a personal mission to find out.”
He knows about Jacob. Shit.
Her legs wobbled, and Johnnie had to lock her knees or fall flat on her face. “But you don’t know where the witchling is, do you?” she asked, faking a calm she certainly didn’t feel.
