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Little Evan and his dad were still in Asheville, which proved that Angie and Molly weren’t staying long, just long enough so Molly could meet with the NOLA witches and assist with the final group workings that would be used as the witch part of security. Witches were coming from all over and Molly and Lachish Dutillet, the head of the New Orleans coven, had a big job to prepare for. But even short stays in New Orleans were expensive, and so my BFF and goddaughter were staying with us. There was plenty of room in the five-bedroom, three-bath house for them to each have their own space, but this time they would be sharing the bedroom over mine, because the boys were painting the other guest room, which we ordinarily used as a workout room.
I’d had the entire house cleaned, had new linens put on the twin beds, and made it clear that the werewolf who spent some nights in Alex’s room had to stay downstairs and not scare the guests. I was pretty sure that Brute understood me, but when a were-creature spent too long in his animal form the brain began to lose its human characteristics and spoken language was one of the first things to go. Since the angel Hayyel had touched Brute in some metaphysical manner unknown to the rest of us, he hadn’t been able to shift to human. Brute wasn’t very human at all anymore.
I was watching out the front window when Mol parked her rental car, a nifty Ford Fusion, a block down from the house. I was out the front door before she got the door open and gathered her and Angie and the cat travel box into a big group hug. I didn’t hug many people, but Molly was family from way back, as much as I had family from way back. Kids raised in children’s homes usually had limited family ties, but the Everharts and Truebloods were family of the heart, if not of the blood. “It’s so good to see you both,” I said softly into Angie’s strawberry blond curls as I crushed mother and daughter and cat box to me. Angie’s feet dangled off the sidewalk. Molly smelled of perfume, which she didn’t usually wear around me, tart and sweet, flowery and lemony, like roses and lemongrass, a strange combination that made me want to sneeze. My inner voice held a hint of growl as Beast laid claim to Angie, with the thought, Kitssss . . .
“I missed you so much!” I growled aloud.
“I know, Aunt Jane,” Angie said, her feet kicking. “You and your Beastie big-cat love us, and we love you. Now lemme down! I wanna go inside!” She kicked, her knee narrowly missing my tender belly, and I set her on the pavement.
“Door’s open. Your room’s ready,” I told her.
Angie took off for the house and I grabbed the luggage from Mol. Being a skinwalker meant being stronger than I looked, and Molly usually packed light. This time was no exception, although the cat cage was getting heavier. KitKit was asleep inside, heavily drugged. And there were scratches up Molly’s arms.
I tucked the cage under my elbow and the two bags in each hand.
We were halfway to the house when I heard Angie scream.
I leaped the distance and inside. Dropped the luggage. The suitcase, tote, and cat cage didn’t fall. They hung there in the air. I had bubbled time—or Beast had—and I hadn’t even noticed. Silver mist and silver-blue motes of power danced around me, coming from within me. Time vibrated and wobbled and my gut twisted tight. Acid rose in my throat. Angie’s scream hung on the air, a deep warble, like a siren.
Alex was half standing behind his modified desk in the living room, his eyes wide and fearful. Eli was midleap in the doorway to the living area, drawing his nine mil, his face expressionless. I looked where Eli was looking—into my bedroom. I stepped inside, the deep sound of Angie’s scream thudding into my eardrums.
It was coming from Angelina, which I had known, but not the why. She was in my closet, on her knees, her hands on and in the hedge of thorns. And the hedge, newly modified by Mol, had manacled the little girl’s wrists and was giving her a mild electrical shock.
Part of me was horrified and lurched toward her. Another part stopped me. And sent me a shock of vision, of a puma kitten tottering on the edge of a ledge. And my/our clawed paw reaching out to her. Swiping her back inside the ledge. A little too rough. But making a point. Teaching kit, Beast thought at me.
Child abuse, I thought back, kneeling beside Angie.