Page 12 of Wolf, Willow, Witch
“Look, I get it, okay? You’re not my servant, you’re not my guard, you’re not my friend. Fair. But I’m all you’ve got.” She plucked Gunnhild into her palm and cradled her, stroking the rat’s back with one finger.
Anger and fear tangled in her gut. That wasn’t the plan—well, she hadn’t planned anything, actually—but she’d hoped for grace, maybe. Or the possibility of a shared interest to bridge the chasm between them. When he lifted his chin, staring at her down his snout, she sighed.Fuck it.
“What’re you doin’ here, Lincoln? Playing in your ex’s house? Waiting for Bishop to come back with Colin? Really, seriously?”
“Careful,” he warned. A growl rumbled in his throat. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that. But don’t push your luck.”
“Okay, so, let’s talk hypotheticals. They come home, you rip Colin’s heart out, and then Bishop hates you for another lifetime. Sure, fine. Or they come home, Bishop kills you—again—and Colin yeets you back to hell. Pick your fighter, because I don’t see this shit goin’ any other way, do you?”
“Or I kill them both.” Lincoln shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth.
“You couldn’tkillBishop, c’mon.”
He licked his teeth. “Get to the point.”
“I’m all you’ve got,” she repeated, annunciating each word. “We don’t have to be friends, but we should, I don’t know, get along.”
“Why? Give me three reasons.”
“Jesus Christ, man. Why are you like this?” Tehlor snorted, scouring the cupboards for a mug.
Lincoln messily fixed their plates. He sat in one chair and knocked the other with his foot, gesturing for her to sit.
“Marital trauma,” he said, smooth as silk. He kept his eyes fixed on his breakfast and shrugged dismissively. “You’re really bad at saying sorry, by the way. Like, this is pathetic.”
“I raised you from the dead, asshole. And I sent you breakfastafteryou throttled me. If you think I came here to apologize, I’ll take my pancakes and go. Hel gave you another life, and whether you like it or not, I was the conduit for your resurrection. We’re linked.”
“I noticed.” He raised his hand, showcasing the blemish in the center of his left palm.
Tehlor flexed her jaw. “Okay, whatever—I’m sorry.”
Lincoln didn’t seem phased. One ear twitched. He nudged the chair again. “Sit down.”
Tehlor brought her steaming mug to the table and sat. She didn’t know what came next. Lincoln could plunge a knife into her stomach. He could stay silent. He could bite her in half. She gave him a slow once over, studying the stitches still marring his throat. Despite the predatory gleam in his eyes, he slid a fork through his pancakes, cutting them into bite-sized pieces, and reached for Gunnhild, scratching her with a crooked finger.
“I can take your stitches out while I’m here,” she mumbled, picking her pancakes apart with her fingers. She dunked the fluffy pastry into a puddle of maple syrup. “Unless you want to come back to my place.”
“Tell me about the megachurch.”
She ignored the twinge of annoyance and followed his lead. “It’s called Haven. One of their missionaries spilled a few details about a revival they’re throwing out in the Gideon Preserve. Fake miracles, bullshit healing gigs, midnight mass, the whole shebang. She told me they have the Breath of Judas, like, in their possession.”
“What kind of Christians are we dealing with?”
We. She resisted smiling. “The batshit kind.”
“Pentecostal, Catholic, Evangelical, Mormon, c’mon, be specific.”
“Shit, I don’t know. She mentioned mass. That’s Catholic, right?”
He shrugged. “A lot of new age churches take bits and pieces from different practices and make their own thing. Could be the case here.”
“Maybe. What do you know about the Breath of Judas?” Tehlor asked.
She gathered some hashbrowns with her fingertips. When Lincoln pushed a fork toward her, she shook her head and kept eating with her hands.
“Someone bottled Judas Iscariot’s last breath and sealed it away. Historians speculate it’s a source of power—a direct link to purgatory—and could give the user control over the dead. Not necessarily necromancy, but the ability to direct empty vessels. Since Judas took his own life, his breath can’t bring back the dead, but repurpose the dead. Corpse magic, I guess.”
“So, like, straight zombie movie shit, huh? I’m into it.” Tehlor sucked her fingers clean.
