Page 52 of The Wolfing Hour
“So, one way or another, they intend to get me off this plane of existence. Even if I have nothing to do with Mason’s disappearance, they’ll kill me. Even if I’m not from Hell, they’ll try to send me there.”
“Yes,” Bronwyn said.
“Will they kill me with human weapons if they can’t banish me?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen them fail.”
A chill went through me.
“Evidently, they don’t view you as human,” Margaux said, grinding her heel into my pain. “Paranormal, either. To them, you’re not worthy of consideration.”
The numbness threatened, lapping at me like waves on a beach. Once more, my fingernails sharpened, skin grayed. I was so angry at everything—the threat to Ida, Bronwyn, this organization, my mother and father, and Sexton. I ground my teeth, fisted my hands, stared daggers at the witch in front of me.
“Uh, Betty?” Margaux watched me with the vigilance she would’ve shown a snarling dog she’d come across in a dark alley. “It’s happening again.”
As if I didn’t know that.
The deadening of my emotions spread until I had only the slightest sliver of annoyance left. I directed it at the thing taking me over.
Go away. I’m not angry. I don’t need you.
Earth magic pushed against demon magic. Both were determined, and the fight was intense. My body felt like my mouth after a bad dental appointment. Deadened and bleeding.
“Get back,” I said, aloud. “I don’t need you.”
I gave up my hold on Bronwyn, and she sank to the floor at Margaux’s feet. It was taking everything I had to fight the urge to burn this store to the ground with her in it.
“Go.” This time I directed my words to the witches. “I can’t hold this back.”
Bronwyn shook her head. “We can’t just leave you here.”
“Let me try something.” Margaux held her phone up like she was taking a picture of me.
Great. I’m sure I looked like Medusa’s way less beautiful cousin. Couldn’t wait to see myself become a hangover meme on social media.
The opening beat of Redbone’s “Come and Get Your Love”played from the phone’s tinny speaker. She turned up the volume.
“Margaux, what in the world are you doing?” Bronwyn stroked the sore spots on her throat.
“There’s a reason she plays seventies music all the time. Lila loved it, and this was her favorite song. I’m thinking it’s Betty’s, too.”
My hands were shaking, so I fisted them at my sides. The music reached for me like Mom’s hands, melodic fingers stroking the planes of my face. I fought against it like a nightmare fights the dawn.
“Let your earth magic do some fighting,” Margaux said. “You don’t have to do it alone, Betty. You aren’t alone.”
She thought I could fight this thing possessing me with platitudes and old songs? The woman had no idea what I was battling.
“I’m trying.” I strained against the darkness—eyes pinched shut, jaw clenched, sweat dribbling down the side of my face. At this point, I couldn’t feel anything. Not even my earth magic.
“I don’t think it’s working,” Bronwyn said.
Margaux upped the volume to full blast, which wasn’t all that loud since it was through her phone’s speaker. “We aren’t even at the good part yet.”
“Look at her. Is that what I think it is? Is shesweatingblood?”
The chorus hit then, entering my body with an endorphin rush of sound, and Mom was with me. I was a child, being led into the soil for the very first time.
“This is where we’re our strongest, Betty.”
