Page 104 of The Wolfing Hour
My magic had returned—not as it had been but transformed. Evolved.
A sigh poured from the earth as her soothing arms enfolded me. The dirt under me liquified, dust flying up in a showgirl’s feathery splash as I sank into its cool, yielding depths.
Please heal me.
The soil seemed to understand that this was a spiritual healing as well as a physical one. It held me close as my soul mended, soaked up my screams as it knit flesh, muscles, and bones, rebuilding some parts, filling the holes in others.
It was agonizing, but it lent me a strange clarity. With every electric sting of my raw nerves, snippets of conversations—outside and inside my head—returned to me.
Sexton:“Before I take my leave, I must again stress how important it is that you reach out to your demon side. You cannot continue to suppress her. She will grow restless.”
And:
“It is tempting to strip yourself of emotion, is it not?” he asked. “To consider how best to proceed using only logic? Simple. Clean.”
Gods, I’d been so dumb. Worse yet, I’d allowed myself to be manipulated at a time when I should’ve been doubly on guard for it. The grandpa, the sage mentor … he’d used my grief from the loss of my family to ingratiate himself into my life, and the second I’d allowed myself to care, he’d turned on me.
Mom’s words, the ones I’d repeated to myself over the years, tormented me now.
No good ever comes from dealing with demons, mija. Remember that.
One of the first questions Sexton had asked me, months ago, in Ronan’s pub:“Do you have concerns about my intentions?”
There had been no turning point. He’d planned this all along. Right from the beginning.
Sexton is a demon. Time barely affects him. He can do anything he wants. He can do anything he wants.
ANYTHING he wants.
Roots wrapped around my throat, wrists, and ankles. The surrounding soil heated up the way it did when it vaporized on my skin. Electricity crackled in my veins. Magic and heat and power jolted into me as if a high-voltage line had made contact with my entire nervous system.
And then, it was over.
The roots released me, and the soil returned to its normal, chilly temperature. The magic sparking in my bloodstream remained, a reminder of the power grounding my soul.
It was closer to sunset than sunrise when I finally resurfaced, healed and whole.
Ida was waiting for me. She set her book—The Art of Warby Sun Tzu—down and leapt off the porch swing, a bath sheet and my phone clutched in her hands.
“Did you find your witch?” she asked.
I nodded and wrapped the towel around me. “You were right. There was always only me. The soil forgave me, as you said it would.”
“It’s tough being right all the time, but I live with the burden.”
I smiled then let it fade away. “While I was under, I had an epiphany of sorts. It’s about Sexton. I think he’s been?—"
My cell rang.
Ida handed it to me. “Eh, you’d better grab that. Your messages have been going bonkers all afternoon.”
“Why? What time is it? Why didn’t anyone wake me up?” My throat was dry, but my voice was back to full power.
“It’s six, and we tried. The earth wouldn’t let you go.”
I answered the call, set the phone to my ear. “Hello, it’s Betty.”
“About time you answered. The Pallás wolves made a move,” Alpha Lydia spoke in short, angry bursts. “I’ve got at least threedead rats, five more gravely injured, and another eleven badly shaken up. He attacked a pack neighborhood on the east side of La Paloma, and one on the south side of Smokethorn.”
