Wild Sign (Alpha & Omega #6)(62)

“They fed that thing music and it gave them power,” said the old man, face twitching as he fought whatever Underwood’s leash was doing to him. “It should have been mine.”

We could tear out his throat, offered Brother Wolf.

His death would be too quick, Charles returned grimly.

We are not cats who toy with our prey, said Brother Wolf, but he didn’t sound scolding. He was thinking about those children, too. They hurt him here?

Yes, said Charles. He had not seen absolute proof of that, but he knew black witches.

Good.

“What did the Singer in the Woods want from Carrie in return for keeping them safe?” Charles asked again. “What did it want that they didn’t give it? How did they break their bargain with it?”

The old man blinked at him, his mouth opening and closing, a drop of saliva beading on the corner for a moment before he licked his lips.

Charles knelt, holding the old witch with his eyes, letting Brother Wolf brush aside Underwood’s magic, which would have kept Daniel silent. “Daniel Erasmus. By your true name, I require you answer me.”

The old man tried to break his gaze, his face twisting in pain at being caught between two magics. Charles didn’t care about Daniel Erasmus’s pain. At all.

Not until he heard Anna’s unhappy intake of breath, anyway.

We will make this quicker, agreed Brother Wolf, drawing power from the pack to increase the pressure they were putting on the witch.

The old witch jerked his head forward and snarled at Charles, “It wanted walkers in the world. Walkers to find things out for it and bring back food.”

“What is a walker in the world?” Anna asked.

Charles had a horrible thought—because he knew someone who was a walker.

“They come in the afternoon,” Daniel Erasmus told Anna, then let out a sound of rage and horror. “Fuck you. Fuck you all. They come in the afternoon and they feed upon me until there is nothing left.”

He laughed, a sly sound that made Anna sad for the lost titan. Charles could see it on her face.

“But I know something they don’t.” Erasmus gestured for her to lean closer.

Charles held her back with a hand on her shoulder; he wasn’t letting his mate get any nearer than she already was.

“They thought that it bargained like the fae,” Charles said. “That the words mattered. But this creature bargains with intent.”

“Words don’t matter to a god,” said Erasmus. “Stupid bitch. She was a ripe plum ready for me to pluck. So much power for a white witch. I could have eaten her and taken that power. Then when they came for me, there would have been such a reckoning.” He shook with frustrated rage as he spat out, “And then she got her stupid self killed. Fuck her.” His voice dropped to a raspy growl. “And fuck you, Charles-fucking-Cornick, for not hunting me down and killing me like you should have done.”

In the midst of his words, he flung out a hand, and a wave of oily black power poured out of him like a mist of darkness—as if Charles would let the old man harm Anna. Charles blew and the wind followed his request, dissipating the blackness into the air, where the hungry magic spells of the garden sucked in the power with more efficiency than a Hoover vacuum.

It would not, Charles thought, be a good idea to use magic in this place.

“Daniel,” said Dr. Underwood in a soothing voice that was somewhat contradicted by the heaving of his breathing as he trotted up the last step. “We need to remember that these are our guests.”

He is out of shape, observed Brother Wolf. And there is something wrong with his lungs. Can you smell the illness in him?

Brother Wolf was in full hunting mode.

Erasmus scowled and half rose out of the chair. The blankets that swathed him were dislodged, revealing the cuffs on his ankles and the binding around his waist. His arms would look unbound to eyes unable to perceive the world as it was. To Charles, the faint marks of a tattoo only a little darker than Daniel Erasmus’s parchment skin stood out like a brand. The inked spell held him with greater sureness than the steel chain attached to his ankles.

“Rest now,” soothed Underwood, touching the riled patient on the forehead. Someone else would not have seen the brutal magic that subdued the old man.

Yes, thought Charles, remembering the children, this was a very good place for the old witch. But the old man had been powerful and Underwood was not.

“She stole it from me,” Erasmus roared, spittle spraying the doctor as the old witch rocked forward in the chair. “She was mine to feed upon. That power was mine. Mine. Mine, and she gave it to a fucking god that sings in the woods. Stupid little—”

“Danny, be a good boy,” said the returning nurse, power in her voice.

Charles wasn’t worried about Erasmus or Dr. Underwood, but the nurse was a different matter entirely. As Erasmus collapsed back in his chair and Underwood straightened, smoothing out his jacket, Charles put himself between Anna and the nurse. He pushed Anna (gently) to the edge of the concrete platform they stood on.

Mary Frank invaded the space in a cloud of Chanel No. 5. He still could not smell the black magic stink, but his skin and spirit knew what had created this place, what kind of witch she was.

And still, in his prime, Erasmus could have destroyed this witch with a few words. Now he subsided in the chair, listing to the left, dull-eyed and drooling a little out of the corner of his mouth.