Page 10 of Wolf, Willow, Witch
Chapter four
Overthecourseofthree days, a storm barreled down from the mountains and swept through Gideon, quieting into a flurry on the fourth night. Snow heaped atop cars, piled in driveways, and left the town silent. Winter did that, somehow. Crept in, held on.
After a mid-morning snowplow cruised through her neighborhood, Tehlor managed to motor through the empty, icy streets and check on the nursery. The last seventy-two hours had been restorative. She’d slept, soaked in a salt bath, washed her bedsheets, meditated, and held her palm above a burning candle, knowing Lincoln Stone would burn, too.
Magic slithered through her, awake and reinvigorated. After she’d turned on the misters in the greenhouse and shoveled the staircase in front of the shop, she stood behind the counter, dangling a diamond-shaped pendulum above an iPad. A map of Gideon filled the screen. Tehlor held the image of Lincoln in her mind and closed her eyes, waiting for intuition to seep into her fingertips. A spark flared, warming her hand, and the pendulum clattered, landing on Staghorn Way.
“Of fucking course,” she mused, shaking out her hand. “Limping back home like a kicked dog.”
Pretending she hadn’t noticed his power was a balm to her ego, but Tehlor knew what he was capable of. She’d felt it unspool—his dark, deceptive magic—and knew she’d have to rely on wits rather than brute strength to get him back. Even then, there was a high probability she wouldn’t succeed. She flattened her palms on the counter and stared at the map.
Hel had given her a gift, granted her a guardian, and Tehlor had been too prideful, or stupid, or ambitious to give a shit about the consequences.
But Lincoln was still her responsibility, whether either of them liked it or not. The gods watched, always, and Tehlor couldn’t afford to become another basic bitch in the Nine Worlds.
“Men,” she snarled, like a curse, shifting her gaze to Gunnhild.
The rat didn’t return her sentiment. She lifted onto her haunches and turned toward the door.
The bell jingled. Boots smacked the welcome mat.
Great. Tehlor sighed. She had exactly zero fucks left for the Bible-bangers and their judgment. Thankfully, only one of them walked through the door. The annoying but less prickly one—Amy—grinned and waved, as if they’d been friends for years, and unzipped her knee-length puffy.
“Hi,” Amy sang. Her breathy laughter filled the shop. Tehlor resisted flinching. “That incense was ah-may-zing! We’ll definitely need more for the revival, and—oh, right—I think Rose mentioned candles. White, if you have them.” She paused, plastering on a mock-cringe. “She doesn’t know I’m here,” Amy whispered as if her box-blonde friend might overhear. “I told her I was going to Hobby Lobby, but I just couldn’t stop thinkin’ about this cute little shop, and your cute little mouse—”
“Rat,” Tehlor corrected.
“Right! And I thought to myself, Amy, that girl at the moon nursery could probably use our business.” She smiled triumphantly.
The worldrevivalsnuck between Tehlor’s ribs. She quirked an eyebrow. “A revival?”
“Oh, yes, our church is expanding, and we have…” Amy paused, eyes lit with passion, or something like it—craze, delirium—and she clucked her tongue, laughing under her breath as she gathered her incense. “Miracles, baptisms, communion, and our midnight mass—” She closed her eyes, swaying on her feet. “—will bring us even closer to God. I just, I can’t wait, you know?”
Strange, to hear a millennial wearing designer denim talk about church in a Disney-adult voice. It wasn’t Amy’s infuriating enthusiasm that piqued Tehlor’s interest, but what remained hidden. The undercurrent in every word, movement, and expression hinted at violence. Leaned toward fine-tuned lunacy.
Tehlor rested her elbows on the counter and cradled her chin in her palm. “Totally,” she said, matching Amy’s enthusiasm. “So, like, what’s the big deal with mass, huh? Fancy wine? New worship song? Hot youth group leader?”
Amy shot her a pensive glance. Her lips twitched and she bounced in place, shimmying her shoulders. “I can’t say,” she said through a whine.
“Oh, c’mon…” Tehlor gave her a once-over. “Isn’t a revival meant to bring in new members?”
“Wait, you’ll come?” She set her hand against her chest and her blue eyes slipped shut. “Gosh, I knew Rose was wrong about you. I felt it. We met and I said, ‘God has a plan for that one.’ I just knew,I knew, I had to come back here and see for myself.” She crossed the store and placed the incense on the counter, and when her hand closed around Tehlor’s palm, Tehlor went rigid. Amy met her flighty gaze. Her voice lowered, secretive and firm. “I swore I saw a light in you.”
Freya, give me strength.Tehlor resisted ripping out of her grasp. She forced a smile, nodding curtly. “Of course, I’ll come. It’s not every day you stumble into a new community, right? I’m a bit…” She wrinkled her nose, wincing like a child. “Shy,” she lied. “But if there’s anything I can do or provide for the celebration….” Her voice trailed off. Tehlor waited, paying mind to Amy’s caught breath, her precise concentration.
“Have you ever heard of the Breath of Judas?” Amy whispered.
Tehlor blinked, tempering the urge to startle. Thrill wedged inside her like a splinter.
“No,” she lied again. Her own hunger reflected back at her, misshapen and awkward behind Amy’s eyes.
Secrets were like botflies, making homes inside little wounds, growing and wriggling, and bursting free entirely new. This one was either true or it wasn’t. There was nomaybe, nocould be.
Because the Breath of Judas was a powerful relic, and if Amy’s church had sniffed it out, Tehlor would simply have to steal it.
Amy darted a glance at the door and clutched Tehlor’s hand, squeezing hard. “When Judas Iscariot hung himself, a messenger was sent from the Holy Kingdom to collect his last breath, sealing his soul in a stone vial. Haven found it.”
Haven. The church.Right. Tehlor nodded again.
