Page 50 of The Wolfing Hour
For this to work the way I needed it to, I was going to have to stop feeling that way. Stop feeling that she was my friend.
Stopfeeling.
As if it had been waiting for an opening, an unnatural, icy calm spiked into my bloodstream. The emotion slid over me like a hungry snake—focused and purposeful and serpent-belly cold. I was equal parts grateful for the numbness and terrified that it had come upon me so quickly.
Terror pushed at the numbness—Control it, Betty. Don’t lose yourself, Betty. Not again, Betty—but the dark magic possessing me took that terror and subverted it. It filled my mind with blood-soaked visions of Ida with a blade buried in her chest and Bronwyn’s delicate hand twisting the hilt.
Ida.
My frustration disintegrated, and the terror trickled away. With them went every scrap of moral resistance. My belief that I not onlycouldkill Bronwyn butwouldkill her if she didn’t cooperate cemented in an instant. I squeezed my fist a little tighter.
“Dios,Betty.” Margaux drew in a sharp breath that sounded like a slow-motion wind. Everything was slower, drawn out, off-key.
I stared at my hands, focusing on the one controlling the spell holding Bronwyn. They were dusty gray, the nails black and pointed.
Bronwyn cried out, pled with me to stop. Her voice gurgled and buzzed and churned, like a chainsaw plunged under water. I was hurting her, and it looked like she was finally starting to believe that I’d watch her die if she didn’t start talking.
She was right. The way I felt now, I wouldn’t lose a single, peaceful Z over it, either.
“Steady, Betty,” Margaux said. She sounded like a drunk old man to my ears, her words slurred. “If you kill her too soon, we won’t be able to protect the others.”
“I’m not the enemy here,” Bronwyn choked out. “I can help you.”
Margaux jerked away from the storeroom doorway and strode up to her—jaw set, voice strident. “Then do it, because it’s evident to me that Betty’s holding onto herself by the thinnest of threads. If that thread snaps, I can’t protect you—and even if I could, I wouldn’t.”
“You’d let herkill me?” Bronwyn gasped, not in shock, but because my hold on her was cutting off her oxygen.
“People we all care about are going to die. We need the truth.”
“You think … my secrets will help. They won’t. I don’t have those kinds of … truths.”
Her skin was as gray as my own now. She was still conscious, but her head lolled to one side.
I squeezed until my stiletto nails drove into my palm, bringing four droplets of blood bubbling to the surface. With a casual flick of my wrist, I spattered her with the droplets. They were hot with my magic and made a hissing sound when they hit her skin.
She screamed. The sound was like water trickling over stones in a stream.
“Such a beautiful song.” I smiled and flicked more of my blood on her. “Do it again.”
“Stop shrieking and start talking,” Margaux said, fishing her cell from her pocket. “The only way to make her stop is to cooperate. Start by telling us your real name.”
“Rachel Hill,” she gasped. “Haven’t used it. Years. Bronwyn Jonas is my name now. Never use the other one. Never again.”
“Why not?” Margaux asked.
I let up on my hold so she could speak without gasping. I was content to let Margaux question Rachel/Bronwyn. It was taking all my focus to keep myself from hurting her again just to hear the melody of her screams.
“Because it’s my ex-husband’s name, and he was an abusive bastard. He’s the reason I joined the organization. They offered me a fresh start away from him and my old life, and I took it.”
Her lips pressed together, and her head jerked from side to side. Clearly, the spell was doing its level best to stop her from talking to us. It needed to be taken care of.
As Margaux questioned her, I flipped through my memories, trying to recall a chant, incantation, or something innate in my elemental magic that might unravel the spell’s bonds on her.
I needed to think. To retake control of myself.
The voice inside my head whispered,“She’ll get Ida killed if you let your guard down. Even if you dismantle the spell, she won’t tell you anything. The best thing to do is kill her.”
“No,” I yelled, and the apathy receded slightly. All sensation intensified. My blood trickled down my fingers and hit the floor with a splash, not a hiss. Sounds momentarily returned to their normal tones.
