Page 51 of The Wolfing Hour
Margaux gave me a curious glance, but she didn’t miss a step questioning Bronwyn. “What are you doing in La Paloma? Why did you come here?”
“I was assigned to integrate with the paranormals in town. Particularly the witches.”
“Why?”
“The organization believed Betty was dangerous.” She tried to calm her voice, but the spell had too strong a hold on her. “My instructions were … observe and report back.”
Margaux looked as pissed as I’d ever seen her. “For what? What’s the purpose of this organization?”
“We track demons,” she choked out, as the spell she was under took full effect.
Demons? The word was a quick, sharp jab to the ribs, but the pain was fleeting, instantly replaced by the apathetic numbness as icy darkness seeped in again.
“You were sent to observe me,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Good goddess, were you ever on the wrong track when you joined the coven,” Margaux muttered. “Betty despised the La Paloma coven.”
“Uh huh.” She snapped her head to the side as if physically breaking free of the spell’s hold. Her voice was less forced, less thready when she spoke again. “I realized that the first time I invited Betty to a meeting, and she told me she’d rather scrub down with a sandpaper loofah and jump into a pool of rubbing alcohol.”
I didn’t recall saying that, but it sounded like me. “What were you and your people going to do if you decided I was a demon? What was the big plan?”
“Banish you back to Hell.”
The apathy lessened, and I squeezed my hands into fists. This time, my nails didn’t cut into my palms. My gray skin andpointed nails had gone fuzzy, the way my face had changed on the way to Floyd’s with Cecil. My demon side was like a poorly executed overlay atop my human self. It hadn’t gone away completely, but my skin returned to its usual color. The numbness retreated, and I was left with confusion, hurt, and an empty sort of rage.
“I don’t understand. I didn’t even know about my demon side when you came to town.”
“My orders indicated otherwise,” she said with a grunt.
Had someone known what I was before I even did?
The obvious answer was yes. My mom, Sexton, my murderous cousin, and the father I never knew. Anyone they’d told. Definitely Bloody Mary. Probably Belial.
Hell.
“Really pisses me off that I considered you a friend,” I said.
“I am, though.” Her gaze was sad, her tone regretful. “It’s probably because of my choice to be your friend that Mason is in trouble.”
“Explain yourself,” Margaux said.
“I stopped reporting about Betty to my superiors. Mason disagreed with me, but he didn’t do anything about it. That put him on the wrong side of the Org. Me, too.”
“Why’d you stop?” I asked.
“I got to know you. You aren’t a danger to anyone.” She shrugged. “Maybe yourself, but I was convinced the Org was wrong about you.”
“Why would they accuse Betty of kidnapping him?” Margaux asked.
“I don’t know. Everything depends on who has him. There’s a structure to the Org, but there are also independent operators—like bounty hunters.”
Margaux cursed in Spanish.
“Once the Org realizes I don’t have him what will they do?”
“Kill you,” she said simply.
