Page 91 of Enspelled

Mara turns around and strides back the way she came. “Come and see.”

I still haven’t heard anything from Briar, so I hesitate.

Mara peers over her shoulder. “Or did you not want to see the person responsible for killing your pack?”

Check on Briar in a second. She’s probably peeing and doesn’t want to talk until she’s finished.

I follow despite the creeping sense that something is wrong. But with Mara here, I shouldn’t be surprised my instincts are blaring loud in my head the way they always have around her.

Still, she led me to Vera, and her spell seems to have done something about Briar’s shifting ability, so she hasn’t done anything to deserve me ripping out her throat. At least not yet.

The witch doesn’t go far. Just a few feet before she halts with her back to me.

I shift my focus from her back and to the thing she’s looking at on the ground. A blanket.

But it isn’t an empty blanket. Experience has taught me what a dead body looks like wrapped up, even one as thickly wrapped as this one is.

“Layla Markham, I’m guessing?” I say.

Mara doesn’t respond.

Turning, I find her staring down at the blanket with bone-chilling hatred. “What did she do to you?”

“More than you could ever imagine,” she says, still staring down at the body. “You had one night of pain. I had a lifetime of it. If spite and cruelty had a face, it would look like Layla Markham.”

“So this is justice, then?” I ask, curious what Layla Markham could have possibly done to deserve so much hate.

She lifts her head and meets my eyes. I don’t fear witches. I never have, but the cold fury in her gaze raises my hackles. “No, this is vengeance.”

And for the first time since this witch has opened her mouth, I feel like I’ve gotten a brutally honest response from her.

I move toward the body and drop into a crouch before unwrapping the blanket. For several seconds, I stare down at it. “I’m supposed to believe this…thingis her?”

“It’s her, all right,” Mara mutters.

I stretch a hand to poke at the body. When my wolf growls his displeasure, I stop. “Why doesn’t the body smell?”

“Oh, there’s a spell for everything.” It’s Mara’s voice, but… not.

I jerk my head up, and just as the witch’s voice is different, so is her face. But it’s one I’ve seen before enough to identify her.

From the brief time I spent in the tearoom as I waited for the witch I’d tracked from the Madden Grove Wood, I recall the slim brunette in a smart shirt who was missing her arm. My gaze dips to the sleeves that cover every inch of her skin.

“Aunt Mel, I’m guessing?”

She raises her arms, and I take in the prosthetic hand obscured by her long hooded top. “Just in case you put the burn and the missing hand together and wound up with two.”

It’s like someone turning on a switch. All at once, everything is clear.

I rise from my crouch. “Briar told me she didn’t know a witch called Mara. That there was only one person with a burn on the side of their face.”

She smiles. “Well, she wouldn’t, because no Mara exists.”

My gaze darts to the burn. “Why didn’t you hide that if you were going to change your face?”

Her eyes harden. “There’s no magic or even makeup that can cover a mark I didn’t want anyone to see. The only way to hide it was to burn it, so no one could identify it.”

I stare at her, horrified. My wolf silences his snarls as if he’s just as stunned as I am. “You’re telling me you did that to yourself?”

---