“Because?”
“She called the woman ‘bitch-whore’ at first sight.”
Cassandra’s cough sounded like a laugh. “Sounds like they’ve met before.”
“Doesn’t it?” Franklin asked.
“Problem is, my mom also thinks she’s a witch.” Owen lifted his hands, lowered them. “Sometimes. Wouldn’t Mistress June kill her too if she got the chance?”
“Probably.”
“Therefore, I doubt they’re hiding together.” And if they had been, he was a lot more worried about his mom today than he’d been yesterday.
“I’d still feel better if we found either one of them,” Franklin said.
“So would I.”
“Does your mother have any friends she might go to?”
“She doesn’t have any—” He paused. “Peggy said she made a friend in the facility recently who was as interested in witches as she was. Though I doubt my mother would run back to a place she just ran away from.”
“Maybe she told this friend something that could help us.” Franklin drew out his cell phone. “Who is she?”
“Peggy never gave me the woman’s name.”
And now Peggy was dead.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” Franklin said.
“Good luck with that,” Owen murmured. Not only were there privacy issues he didn’t think even the FBI could get around, but if this woman were in the same facility as his mom, he doubted she’d be coherent for questioning any more than his mom had ever been.
“So…” Owen rubbed his hands together. “You wanna go check on the wolf in your clinic?”
What he really wanted was to get Becca out of here. He was pretty sure he could find out more from her than from anyone in the room.
“Pru’s gone.”
“Gone how?” As she’d seemed well enough the night before, Owen didn’t think “dead and gone.”
“Ran off,” Becca said.
He also hadn’t thought she’d been well enough to be “long gone.” Then again, what did he know?
“How much have you told him?” Franklin asked.
“Enough.”
“Define enough,” Owen said. “I know that Raye thinks they’re sisters.”
“Thinks?” Bobby asked. “Have you looked at them?”
“Fine,” Owen admitted. “They’re sisters. But what that has to do with the Venatores Mali, witches, and wolves is a mystery.”
The room went silent.
“Maybe you two should go somewhere and talk,” Bobby said.
Owen’s gaze met Becca’s, and he opened the door. “You read my mind.”
*
As I started for the door, Raye caught my arm and whispered, “You need to tell him everything.”
I did need to. I just didn’t want to.
Owen, Reggie, and I climbed into the pickup. “Where to?” he asked.
“The clinic.” Not only did I have work to do, but if this went badly—and how could it not?—I’d rather be in my own place, instead of having to walk back to it from the cottages. Have people pass me on the road, stop, and ask what the hell? That was just embarrassing.
Owen drove the short distance, waving at those who waved at us—quite a few. Townsfolk seemed genuinely happy to see him. I could tell it mystified him still.
The sight of the empty dog bed in the corner made my eyes burn and my throat thicken. Pru was fine. She was healed. But bizarre as it was to admit, she was my mother, and I wanted more time with her. Maybe once this was over, I’d get it.
Reggie trotted to the cushion and circled, then lay down. I started for the reception area. “I’ll make coffee.”
“I don’t need coffee.”
“I do.” What I really needed was something to occupy my hands, a way to stall while I figured out not only what to tell him but how.
Owen moved around the room, stopping in front of the pictures—photos Joaquin had taken of patients; the kid had a knack with a camera—shuffling magazines, straightening the furniture.
“Sit,” I said. He was driving me bonkers.
“You first.” I pressed the start button on the coffeepot, turned, and ran right into him.
He caught my elbows. His hands were big and hard and warm—like him. I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in, rested my cheek on his chest, felt his breath stir my hair. I never wanted to be without him again. But he needed to know the truth. All of it.
I straightened. He clung. I let him for just a minute, or maybe I let myself. Then I stepped back, and his hands fell away. I took the seat I’d wanted him to and spilled.
Sister triplets. Ghost-father Henry. Wolf-mom Pru. Scotland. Witchcraft. Time travel.
He took it pretty well. At least until I got to the part about me.
“Hold on.” He’d been pouring himself coffee. He set the pot back where it had been with a sharp click, wrapped his hand around the mug, and turned. “You think you’re one of these sisters who was sent through time?”
“You saw Raye, didn’t you? We’re identical. Or close enough.”
“There’s a better explanation for that than magic and time travel.”
“If you have one, I’d be happy to listen.”