Chapter 6

6

As I stared down the two pitch-black barrels of the shotgun, shivers coursed down my arms and into my stomach like snakes. My mind raced, snapping into two distinct pieces. One screaming at me to run and the other insisting I tear the threat to shreds.

A very human shriek escaped my throat instead as I dropped to my knees in a crouch. “Elfwaite sent me! Elfwaite sent me!”

The statement aired on repeat until I heard the click of the safety being snapped into place.

“Child, you can’t be too careful nowadays. Damn people wanting to steal everything you got, not even waiting until a woman is good and dead to do their picking. Little vultures.”

I spared a glance up and saw the barrel of the rifle lower to her side. Still not far enough away for my liking but enough to have me coming out of my crouched position to stare at the witch.

In her late sixties, she had stark gunmetal-gray hair. She stood tall and strong, with an aura of power about her at distinct odds with the blue-and-red flannel button-up shirt and holey jeans. Her feet were bare.

She held up her free hand to beckon me inside, her fingernails yellow. “Don’t stand out here knocking your knees together, kid. If the old pixie sent you then you obviously have some things to talk about. Come inside before you wet yourself.”

Her syllables clicked and ground together. The moment I stepped over the threshold, the door closing behind us with a decisive click, I noticed the ashtrays scattered around the once-grand foyer. Now it made sense. The woman smoked like a train. She reminded me of Cook, though I was pretty sure the latter’s vocal issues had more to do with her screaming at her staff than any addiction.

“Thank you,” I managed to get out, conscious of my every awkward movement.

Setting the shotgun aside, the witch bent to pick up a still-lit cigarette from a glass tray and gestured for me to follow behind her. “Come on, kiddo. The full moon is rising and I’m sure we both have better things to do than stand around and stare at each other. Let’s get this business over with.” She bared her teeth in what I thought was an attempt at a smile.

“I’m sorry to bother you so late,” I told her.

“Don’t worry. You’re just lucky I didn’t shoot first and ask questions later.”

It wasn’t a good business model. Her reply did nothing to soothe me, either.

The further I went into her house, the more I noticed things standing out to me, not the odd way in which the witch moved or the lack of typical witchy accoutrements. There were walls made entirely of canned goods. There were cabinets stocked to the brim with ammunition and more guns than I could keep track of.

“What’s all this?” I asked her.

“Barbara. You can call me Barbara,” the witch said over her shoulder. “And it’s supplies. Are you blind?”

“Supplies for what?”

“For anything. You can never be too careful. Bad things are on the horizon and it’s better to be prepared than be caught with your pants down around your ankles. You want a beer?”

We’d made it into the kitchen and the decor didn’t fare any better in there. Glass jugs of water weighed down the top of the kitchen table. I saw more bullets, more pantry items, and a couple of baskets of laundry in need of folding. Two chairs were pushed beneath the round table, with faded red plush seats cracking at the seams.

I shook my head. “No thanks. I’m only eighteen.”

“Old enough to drink in my book, but suit yourself.” Barbara grabbed one of the chairs and hauled it out, folding her body down and fixing me with a look. Scrutinizing me through a cloud of exhaled smoke. “You got a name, kiddo?”

I tried not to fiddle with my shirt for something to do. “It’s Tavi.”

“Tavi.” She stretched it out into two long syllables and drew in another inhale. Her eyes narrowed. “I need to know two things from you. How did you get to my house, and how in the hell did you make it past my magical barriers? Now, you got any answers for me?”

I resisted swatting the smoke away from my face, despite how difficult it was to breathe. “I didn’t see any barriers,” I said, “magical or otherwise.”

She just stared at me. Perhaps I hadn’t said the right thing. “The wards, Tavi, try to keep up. How did you get past my wards?”

The smile wasn’t comforting and I tried to stand tall beneath it. Tried to feel confident I had made the right decision in coming here. Elfwaite would never put me in danger, I told myself. “I’m not sure,” I answered Barbara honestly. “I didn’t know there were barriers. I just followed the magic.”

Barbara gestured toward the seat on the opposite end of the table and I cleared away a pile of magazines to sit.

“Followed the magic.”

I didn’t like the way she repeated me. And I certainly didn’t like the way Barbara continued to stare at me as though I were some kind of experimental specimen for her to figure out.

If you only knew.

“Tell me why I should listen to a word you have to say,” Barbara barked.

“Elfwaite said you could help me.” I grabbed the end of my braid and knew I didn’t look like much. I’d worn dark clothes to help me blend in with the darkness, loose jeans and a comfortable gray shirt. The braid slapped at my back when I ran but kept the hair out of my face. I’d thought it was a good move at the time.

“Help you how?” My nerves jangled under her scrutiny, but I plunged ahead.

“My uncle is alpha of the Alderidge pack. At my eighteenth birthday party, he announced I am the fated mate of our rival pack’s alpha. I’m not sure how much you know about werewolf hierarchy, but this man…he’s a nightmare.” My hands fisted on the tabletop. “He revels in abuse and violence and does not hesitate to exert his power over others. I refuse to give myself to him. I’ve been accepted to a Fae school for halflings, but only if I can mask my shifter side. They can’t know who I am.”

I told her what had happened at the party, at dinner, the stories I’d heard about Kendrick and how he’d accosted me outside the powder room.

Barbara leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “And Elfwaite sent you to me,” she said eventually.

“She did.”

“God, I’ve known Elfwaite for a long time.” Her laugh came fast and sharp, the cigarette squashed in time with the sound. “She’s a real kicker, not like the rest of them.”

My shoulders relaxed at the affection I heard in Barbara’s voice. No, Elfwaite would not steer me wrong. “She’s sweet,” I agreed.

“Too damn sweet for her own good sometimes. Unlike the rest of her kin. Pixies can be notorious tricksters along with the rest of the fairies, hobgoblins, and all.” Barbara’s gaze hardened and she looked me up and down as though deciding whether I was worth the effort or not. “But I hate the high Fae. Your kind, judging by the smell. I’ve been burned by them before. Most are only out for their own good. Why should I help you?”

My heart stuttered and skipped a beat. “Please. I have money.” I dug deep into my pocket and drew out the bills I’d snagged from Uncle William’s desk. “Whatever amount you want, I can pay you. And I can get more if you need it.”

They were crisp hundreds stacked perfectly in order, face up. The way Will preferred and a way demonstrating his control over his world.

Barbara shrugged. “I have no need for money. I have all I want that money can buy, and what I don’t have, I can barter for easily enough. Cash isn’t going to be enough to sway me to help you. And trust me, girl. If you want something strong enough to fool the Fae, then you are going to need a lot of help. Or else start to get cozy with your fated mate. Sometimes nightmares can be the best in the sack.”

I didn’t care for the way she said “fated mate” and liked her sexual reference even less. “You won’t take my money,” I said, stomach twisting.

“Damn right I won’t. You are going to have to offer something else if you want me to get involved with what you’re doing.” She drew a circle in the air with her cigarette, indicating the whole of me. “It’s going to take a lot. I’m not in the general practice of helping the Fae. Even a half one.” So, she knew what I was. Oh boy. “Sorry, girl.”

Staring down at the scarred table, I sucked on my teeth. “Look,” I began, “I don’t have much love for the Fae either. You obviously know what I am since you can…smell me? You know I’m a halfling. My parents fell in love despite belonging to doomed sides. Then my father, the shifter, was killed by Fae enforcers right in front of me. I was six years old.”

I was six and I didn’t understand who I was, what I was, should not exist in this world or any world. I didn’t understand how people would hate me and curse me for simply being. It didn’t seem fair. But Barbara didn’t need to know. I’d wasted enough time feeling sorry for myself and my circumstances.

“My mother was carted off by her own people to be tried and executed for her crime. The crime of loving a werewolf and birthing a child by him. So, the Fae murdered my parents.” I rose to my feet, brows drawn together and knees shaking, trying to stand my ground. I looked pointedly at Barbara and the sharp tips of her fingernails tap-tap-tapping at her cigarette. “I need this school. I need to escape because I refuse to be some man’s sex toy to further another man’s power play.”

Her right hand twitched as Barbara continued to stare at me. Finally, in the comfortable gloom of her survivalist kitchen, she nodded. “All right,” she said slowly. “I’ll help you.”

“How much?” I asked her.

Barbara clicked her yellowed nails before reaching for a second pack of cigarettes and removing one to light with the burned embers of her last. She drew in a deep breath as though her cells would die at any minute without nicotine. “It’s not monetary value I require. I told you. Price is not necessarily measured in cash.”

“Fine,” I agreed.

A snap of her fingers conjured a contract from nothing, the paper unfurling and floating in midair. A second snap brought a fountain pen into being. Both slid toward me on an invisible breeze. Something inside of me clenched and dropped. I pretended not to care.

“When the time comes for me to collect payment for your debt, you will know immediately. Your signature at the bottom of this document—a binding magical contract, by the way—states you will repay the debt in whatever method the spellbinder—that’s me—demands at a future point in time.”

My uncle would drop dead on the spot if he knew I was about to sign a contract without proper representation. Or even reading it first. “I…I’m not sure if I should—”

“It’s an unnamed favor,” Barbara interrupted with a hint of impatience. “You want your cure-all, don’t you?”

The price was not explicitly laid out. This was a terrible idea, and the whole of me felt it. Uncle William would have never allowed one of his clients to go through with this deal. Not without the terms being discussed beforehand.

“Do you want my help or not?” she pressed.

Still I hesitated. Literally promising to do anything for this crazy lady meant endless possibilities and none of them good. What would she have me do? Barbara could demand I kill someone for all I knew.

But I also knew the Fae Academy for Halflings waited. And I’d do whatever it took to get out from under my uncle’s thumb and save myself from Kendrick Grimaldi.

You’ll go when I say you can go.

Before I thought better of it, and with the memory of his voice echoing in my head, I grabbed the pen to sign my name on the contract.