Witches for Hire (Odd Jobs #1)(57)
Licking his lips, the traitor looked at the mirror. “The knight won’t let you.”
“The knight isn’t in this room,” Jeremy breathed out.
“He’ll see—”
“He’ll see what I want him to. Change now, or I’ll change you myself.”
Mark stalked to the traitor. “Fuck this, I’ll do it.” He grabbed the traitor’s neck, his eyes glowing. The traitor tried to pull back, but the bones in his face began cracking without his consent. His eyes bulged, and he whimpered and grunted as his neck stretched out.
It wasn’t the smooth transition Jeremy had seen Rudy go through. With each break of bone and twist of muscle, the traitor’s transformation sounded… wetter.
“Stop!” Mark ordered.
The traitor’s elongated head, with tufts of fur sprouting from his brow to his back, drooped to the side in exhaustion, as if he had been hunting all night.
“Head straight and open your mouth!”
Without hesitating, the traitor’s head straightened and his jaw fell wide open. His knocked-out teeth had regrown, and a giant maw of pink flesh was available to access.
Jeremy leaned closer so he could see into that cavernous throat that seemed to go on forever. If I stuck my head in there, would I hear an echo? He shook his head violently. I should have eaten one damn leaf. Jeremy pulled a thick pair of metal mesh gloves from his pocket. They would provide protection against infection, but the strength of a werewolf’s bite could crush his bones. And yet. Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut as the Robin Hood: Men in Tights theme song popped in his head, and he desperately fought the urge to slap the werewolf with a glove. Eventually, Jeremy gathered himself and slid the first glove on. It draped past his elbow until he wrapped the straps closed. He put on the other one and sat on his heels. “Say ahhhh.”
Like a patient of Dr. Moreau, the werewolf obliged, a long tongue rolling to his chest.
There was no reason to delay, so Jeremy placed his hands in the werewolf’s mouth. The traitor’s tongue rose slightly in reflex at his touch but stilled when Mark growled. The hairs on Jeremy’s neck stood up, but he kept patting. If he died feeling around like an idiot, waiting for a curse to liquefy this imbecile’s insides, he would haunt everyone. Jeremy pulled out his hands. There was plenty of room for him to work without being bitten, so that was one hurdle jumped. He picked up a ceramic jar. The werewolf’s nostrils flared in disgust at what he smelled in the mixture, but he deserved to have it shoved down his throat. “Don’t move.” Jeremy lifted the top off and grabbed one end of a tar-covered rope. Then he stood so the rope could drop out to its full length. Hopefully, the tar and other herbs that might or might not pass muster with any magical authorities in a lawful region would become a suction for the curse the werewolf had been infected with.
There was grumbling from below.
“Oh shut up. I’m not thrilled to be doing this either.” Jeremy pushed the werewolf’s chin so his head tilted back. “One scratch, one bite, and I’ll do so many illegal things to you that I’ll have to bribe my way to another state.” And he meant it. Fuck becoming a furball once a month. Jeremy fed the rope past the werewolf’s lips and lowered it farther. Once the end hit resistance, Jeremy used his fist to shove it down. The rope tugged on his hand as it grew heavier. Shit, how much magic is attached to him? This wasn’t something cast by touch but a potion taken into the body. I suppose no one teaches werewolves you don’t take drinks or food from strange mages. The arrogance of supernatural beings always amazed him. The rope started slipping out of his fingers, so Jeremy clutched it with both hands. The weight continued to increase. “We’re going to have a problem if the rope snaps.”
“How bad?” Dennis asked, speaking up for the first time since Jeremy started.
“This curse is more powerful than I imagined. Since the magic is no longer tied to the wolf, the odds are high that it will explode.” Jeremy looked over his shoulder at the pack leader and the elder. “Soon would be preferable.”
“Mark, please lend him your strength,” Dennis requested.
Jeremy stuck out his elbows to make it easier for Mark to hold him. “I’m losing it!”
Rough hands interlocked with Jeremy’s arms and pulled. “Forcing me to come down here in this mosquito-infested state and now expecting me to help a witch,” Mark groused.
“It’s not a picnic for me either.” Spreading his feet apart, Jeremy relaxed, and the rope finally popped out of the traitor’s throat with a loud squish. The tar had originally been a thin veneer, but what came out of the werewolf was a cluster of pulsing black orbs that looked like eggs. He shook his head in wonder. “Gods, they really wanted you dead if you talked. A curse this powerful could have lay dormant for years.” Jeremy clicked his tongue at the traitor. “You are an idiot.”
The traitor tried to speak, but Dennis cut him off. “You say nothing until we dispose of that… thing.” He turned to Jeremy. “Is there anything else that you need?”
Jeremy looked at the rope. “A larger containment box.”
IT WASN’T the most civil werewolf interrogation Clive had ever seen, but he understood the need for violence during desperate times. They didn’t rip off his arms or yank out any organs, so that was a relief. Clive looked at Jeremy, who was seated on the now-clean floor with his head slumped on his fist. That killing intent he had sensed when he first met Jeremy briefly returned during the questioning. The magical consultant was oblivious to how the pack leader’s aggression wasn’t only a product of being betrayed but an instinctual attempt to reclaim dominance over the human in his werewolf’s eyes. Jeremy received sidelong glances as if he would suddenly turn dangerous in his sleepy state. Clive knew he should reprimand Jeremy for obviously taking a drug before the trip, but this was the second time he’d ingested something strange to meet a powerful being. What is it about his magic that he wants to hide?