Page 77 of The Wolfing Hour
Gladys scowled down at herself. “I wish this old body would heal faster so I could be out there helping. I owed the boss my life before all this. Now, I owe him even more.”
“I’m sure he understands,” Ida said. “Best that you stay here and heal.”
Trini eyed me. “You look like a woman with a plan.”
“Not sure if it’s a good plan, but I do have something up my sleeve. To that end, I gave Margaux Ramirez permission to enter the property and we’re meeting in the garden room in about,” I looked at my phone, “twenty minutes to try a couple of divinations. Cecil, Fennel, I’m going to need you there.”
Fennel nodded. Cecil raised a pudgy little fist then let it drop back by his side. Had Gladys given him some boysenberry wine tonight? He seemed way too uninterested in our conversation. Normally, he loved to be in the thick of drama.
“Isn’t Bronwyn helping?” Gladys asked. “She was a godsend when those wolves tore me up.”
“No,” I said, and immediately changed the subject.
Ten minutes later, I said goodnight to the group. Ida walked me to the garden room on her way home to check on Meredith. Fennel and Cecil brought up the rear.
“You don’t trust Bronwyn at all anymore?” Ida asked.
“I’m feeling burned, and it’s not a good idea for me to perform magic around someone that I’m upset with right now. Not with my dark side looming.”
“You’re worried about Demon Betty hurting her?”
“She’s weirdly protective of me.”
“Like me.” The moonlight illuminated Ida’s bright grin.
My first smile in hours appeared and disappeared. “She’s also very protective of you and the boys. Like me.”
“That’s nice.”
“She is anything but nice.”
Ida patted my arm and left.
A glimmering purple light spilling through the doorway and windows told me Margaux was already at work inside. I motioned for Fennel to follow. Not Cecil, because he was already part of the deal. He’d flung himself over the cat’s back before we left Gladys’s place and was hanging there, eyes closed, feet dangling, head lolling.
“We’re going to need asoberingcharm.”
“Meow,” Fennel agreed.
Cecil belched.
“What’s up with him lately? Is the pressure of living with me getting to him?”
“ME-ow.”
“Oh yeah? Well, I wasn’t asking about you, Fennel, I was asking about Cecil.Oh, hello, Margaux.”
The witch had transformed from Snow White’s evil queen to gothic hippie in black skinny jeans and button-down blouse. She’d kicked off her sandals, and her toenails were painted an unexpectedly cheery shade of pastel green. Even the severe bun was gone. Her black hair was loosely French-braided, the silver strands down in front to frame her face.
Though the woman was only a decade older than me, tonight she reminded me uncomfortably of my mom.
“Wondered when you’d finally get here,” she replied.
She’d pushed aside my chaise lounge and drawn a circle in rosemary-infused chalk on the floor. The stars were out in full force tonight, freckled light shining through the corrugated polycarbonate ceiling. Even the purple light Margaux was using to see the circle couldn’t outshine their luminescence.
“Star stuff,” I said.
“Hmm?” Margaux wiped her hands on her jeans and picked up a fresh chalk stub. She drew a complicated glyph in a corner of the circle.
