Sisters Of The Craft: Heat Of The Moment Part 38

"It bugs me that whoever attacked you tried to smother you," Raye said.

"Me too," I muttered.

"Mistress June's weapon of choice is the athame of Roland McHugh," Bobby said. "I've never known her to use anything else."

"What's an athame?" I asked.

"Double-edged ritual knife," Raye answered. "Used by a fire witch to cut herbs, draw the sacred circle. Roland's is squiggly." She made the sign of an S in the air. "He carved his snarling-wolf symbol into the hilt."

"If an athame is a witch's instrument, why did McHugh have one?"

"Because he could?" Bobby asked. "The way it was explained to me is that Christians often appropriated pagan holidays and symbols. In that way they blurred the lines between pagan and Christian. People weren't even aware they'd been converted until they were."

"There's a reason the sabbats fall next to the Christian holidays," Raye continued. "Christians put the holidays next to the sabbats."

"Apparently Jesus wasn't even born on December twenty-fifth." Bobby seemed a little upset about that.

"You think McHugh s.n.a.t.c.hed the ritual knife of a fire witch then carved his symbol into it?"

"I think McHugh s.n.a.t.c.hed a fire witch," Bobby said, "but close enough."

"And now his chief minion has it?"

"Yes." Raye lifted a hand to her upper arm and rubbed. "She stabbed me with the thing."

Fury washed over me at the thought. "Does it still hurt?"

She dropped her hand, colored a bit. "It's only been a week. It'll heal."

I pressed my fingers where she had. A spark jumped. Her skin s.h.i.+fted and warmed. She sucked in a sharp breath, and I drew back.

Raye went to the mirror, pulled her s.h.i.+rt down, baring her shoulder to just above her breast, then leaned in. I wasn't sure what she was looking at until she drew a finger over a thin, red line. She spun, threw her arms around my neck, and pulled me in close. "Thanks."

"If I'd known you were hurt, I'd have done it right away."

Although, until yesterday, I hadn't realized I could.

"She has the powers of a fire witch?" Ca.s.sandra asked.

Raye considered me. "Healing? Check. Destruction of disease and illness? Check and check. What else?"

"The ancients considered a fire witch a djinn," Ca.s.sandra continued. "With fire in the veins instead of blood."

"I bleed." Though I'd rather not have to prove it.

"Probably not a literal interpretation," Ca.s.sandra said. "But you never can tell. A fire spirit also has the power to shape-s.h.i.+ft into animals."

"I do not!" I protested.

"Maybe not yet," Raye put in. "I couldn't levitate until I met you. Heaven knows what we'll be able to do once we find our other sister."

I didn't mind healing people and animals. But turning from one to the other? Not a fan.

From the way Edward was stroking his rifle and staring at me, he wasn't either. The man was spooky squared.

"Shape-s.h.i.+fting might explain Pru's present form." Raye's gaze flicked to Henry's corner, and she tilted her head. "Or not. He says that Pru could call wolves, control them, but she wasn't one of them."

"At least not then," I said.

"She's not really one of them now. She can think like a human. She can communicate with you and with Henry. She's different and they know it. Wolves avoid her."

"Lonely," I observed. Pru couldn't hang out with the humans. They'd run, screaming, "Rabies!" And the wolves didn't want her around either.

"Henry says loneliness was a small price to pay to keep their children safe."

I saw again the pyre flaring to the sky and the empty stake left behind. "Loneliness wasn't the only cost."

Silence descended. The FBI agent stood. "I need to get the ring to Elise."

"I will take it." Edward held out his hand, and Franklin placed a plastic evidence bag into it.

"I'm not an expert," I said, "but isn't the FBI going to throw a hissy fit if you give evidence to just anyone?"

When the old man's eyes narrowed on me again, I wished I'd kept my mouth shut.

"Edward isn't just anyone," Franklin answered. "The Jger-Suchers have been secretly funded by the U.S. government for decades."

If it was such a secret I had to wonder why he was telling me. I decided not to ask in case the realization that he had might require Edward to kill me, or at the least cut out my tongue. He seemed capable of it.

"Besides," Franklin continued. "The Jger-Sucher lab has equipment the FBI isn't even aware of yet."

"How'd that happen?"

"Ask him." Franklin pointed at Edward, who was already striding for the door.

"I'll take your word for it."

"My wife, Elise, is in charge of the lab. She's a virologist by trade, but she's the most brilliant woman I've ever met."

"She hasn't cured herself yet," Edward said, and slammed the door behind him.

"What's he so mad about?" I asked.

"Elise is his granddaughter," Franklin said.

"What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing," Franklin snapped, at the same time Ca.s.sandra said, "Werewolf."

"The greatest werewolf hunter of all time has a granddaughter who is one?"

"Life's just full of little ironies, isn't it?" Ca.s.sandra murmured.

Chapter 24.

I sensed a long story there, but I didn't have the time. If I didn't get back to Owen soon, with coffee, he was going to start searching for me. I didn't want to explain ...

I glanced around the motel room.

Any of this.

"Where do we go from here?" I asked.

"We'll see if we can get info on a coven, witches, or an altar in the area." Franklin indicated himself and the voodoo priestess. "Between the two of us we should be able to uncover something."

"I hope before someone else dies," Ca.s.sandra said.

"I need to go." I moved toward the door, and Raye followed, stopping me with a hand on my arm.

"Watch yourself."

"Mistress June is going to be pretty easy to spot."

"There's more than one killer," Bobby said. "Again."

"You sure?"

"The animals." He lifted one shoulder, the movement both smooth and slightly foreign. "They're the work of an amateur."

"Practice," I murmured.

"Oui," he agreed, and my gaze flicked to Raye's.

Her lips quirked and while she didn't say anything, I could almost hear her thoughts. How could I resist a man who speaks French?

It would be pretty d.a.m.n hard.

"Mistress June is a pro," Bobby continued.

"Therefore the animal sacrifices were practice and that equals two killers."

"At least," Raye agreed.

"I'll be careful." I opened the door.

Owen stood on the other side.

Owen had awoken when what he thought was Becca's fingernails scratched his chest. He'd reached for her and gotten a fistful of Grenade instead.

He sat up, the kitten tumbled off, Reggie woofed, and the two of them started running around the cabin.

Owen rubbed his eyes. He was used to waking up much earlier, with a lot more noise. Real grenades going off in a completely different way for instance. Yet still he had a headache.

"Becca?"

No answer. A trickle of unease had him inching to the edge of the bed and calling her name again a little louder.

She'd probably had an emergency or an appointment. Except he hadn't heard her phone, hadn't heard her leave. Which made the unease deepen for more reasons than one.

A few months out of the field and he slept right through noises and movement? If he'd been in Afghanistan he'd be dead.

Owen put on some pants and stepped onto the porch. Reggie nosed the kitten back inside when she would have followed. Owen shut the door.

"What's your excuse?" he asked, but the dog trotted into the high gra.s.s at the edge of the lake. At this rate, they were both going to have to do some retraining before they returned to work.

Owen's hand fell to his thigh, rubbed where the stiff morning ache usually lived. It was faint today. Amazingly so.

His gaze zeroed in on Carstairs Avenue. From here he couldn't tell if Becca was at the clinic or not. She could have walked back since he'd driven- His eyes narrowed on the empty s.p.a.ce where his rental had been. "Huh."

Reggie smacked his head against the door. Grenade mewed from the other side, and the dog started barking.

"Shh." Owen opened it, and the two tumbled across the floor like puppies. He hadn't seen Reggie behave like this ... ever. Work was play, hence his reward of the rubber ball whenever he found what he was sent to find. Since they'd been here, Owen had used the ball so little, he wasn't sure exactly where it was.

As he pulled the spare from his duffel and shoved it in his pocket, he caught sight of a piece of paper where one hadn't been last night, and crossed the room, read Becca's note, then glanced at the clock. Eight A.M.

The time meant nothing, as he'd no idea when she'd left. He retrieved his phone, texted her, waited. Waited some more. Gave the animals some water, a little food. Checked his phone, peered out the window. Twitched. Twitched again.

Finally he put on s.h.i.+rt and shoes, grabbed Reggie's leash, snapped it onto the dog's collar, and they left. It didn't take long to find her. Finding things was what both he and Reggie did best.

The pickup sat in front of the coffee shop like a blazing white flag. However, he could see through the windows that she wasn't inside. Which made Owen all kinds of nervous.

A car backed up next to him, and the uninterested glance he threw at the driver suddenly became very interested when Owen recognized the wolf hunter he'd last seen in the bar.

Owen lifted a hand, shouted, "Hey!" but the guy pulled onto the highway and accelerated. Within seconds, his taillights were specks at the outskirts of town.

Where was Chief Deb when you needed her?

Owen had just pulled out his phone, thinking he would call Becca over and over until she either answered, or he heard her cell ringing and ringing from wherever she lay unconscious, when Reggie tugged on the leash and practically dragged him to one of the motel room doors, where he promptly sat and stared at the doork.n.o.b.

As if his stare was magic, the k.n.o.b turned, the door opened, and there she was-along with a bunch of people Owen had never seen before.