Chapter 16

Chapter

Sixteen

A n iron grille covered a tiny window on the door, the sort through which you'd give a password if the office required one.

Ronan didn't bother with it. He knocked once and charged into the office.

I followed.

Fernando "Floyd" Pallás's office could best be described as bland. Ivory walls, gray filing cabinets, old furniture, beige tile floor. It smelled like stale cigarette smoke and wet fur. Everything, even the framed photographs on his shelves, was covered in a layer of dust.

The rest of the bar had been exceedingly clean. Even the storeroom had been swept and dusted at some point in the last couple of weeks or so, something I'd noticed—between gasps for air—when Mason dragged me into it.

But this office hadn't been touched in months—maybe longer. Which meant the alpha didn't allow his cleaners in here.

Alpha Floyd was hiding something in this room.

He slammed shut the file drawer he'd been pawing through and strode up to Ronan and me. "Hello, witch."

My fingers wriggled at my sides. Oh, I longed to thumb through the files in those cabinets. There had to be so much potential Alpha-Floyd-blackmail in the drawers. I'd have had Cecil and Fennel grab some files when they were here earlier, but I'd felt it was too big a risk. I'd only wanted to remind the arrogant wolf who he was dealing with, not send him on a murderous rampage.

"Hello, Alpha Pallás. Nice to see you aren't itching anymore."

"The coven brought me an anti-itch charm." No handshake, but at least he hadn't called me "filthy, low class, trailer-park grunge witch" or "witch bitch" or "trailer trash Betty" this time. Heck, the man was almost civil.

Interesting.

He acknowledged Ronan with a nod. "Third."

"Alpha," Ronan said, and I found that interesting, too.

Allowing for language and regional differences, most shifters used the widely accepted titles of mother and father rather than pack title. That Ronan chose to acknowledge his father's position in the pack rather than their relationship spoke volumes.

Not for the first time, I wondered why Ronan remained in La Paloma now that his sister had moved away. It obviously had nothing to do with paternal love, because there didn't appear to be any.

The alpha leader lowered himself into a faux-leather, high-backed chair behind an oversized metal desk. The seat squawked in protest as he leaned back and folded his hands over the beginnings of a paunch, something rarely seen in the shifter world. It took a lot of calories to shift, so wolves tended to stay fit throughout their lives.

Either the alpha had been hitting the beer taps harder than normal or he hadn't shifted in a long time.

Looked like I was starting a whole collection of interesting Pallás pack tidbits.

Floyd was in his early sixties with silver hair and brown skin bronzed by the sun. He wasn't bad looking, just unkempt, like a house with good bones that had slipped into decline.

"Sit down, Witch Betty."

In front of the alpha's desk were two repulsive plaid-cushioned chairs. I perched on the edge of one. Ronan stood three feet behind me, arms folded. He looked like paid security. I wasn't sure if he was protecting his alpha leader or me.

Or himself.

"One second." I pulled out my phone and selected a photo from a file I kept on a cloud service.

Alpha Floyd's phone pinged.

He snatched it up and read the text message. Or, rather, looked at it. There were no words to read.

His mouth tightened, and his gaze darkened, rage twisting his features.

I kept my voice low, firm, and even. "I understand warding the bar against me. That's just smart. I even understand sending me after a cursed book. That's just business. But if your second puts his hands on me again, I'll send that picture to every wolf in your pack."

It wasn't an empty threat, and Floyd knew it.

He gave me the sort of nod an adversary gives an equal. His thumb moved over the message, and I was certain he was deleting it from our text conversation.

I made a point of doing the same, keeping the phone in the alpha's line of sight and out of Ronan's. The photo would remain in the cloud.

For now.

"Let's talk about why you're trying to take out the Mictlantecuhtli cult." He opened his mouth, and I held up my finger. Not the one I would've liked to have held up, though. "One chance. You have one chance to tell me the truth or I walk."

"Then what will poor old Gladys do?" Floyd made a mock-sad face.

Ronan moved behind me. It was a subtle shift of his feet, and it wasn't accompanied by a growl, but it was angry. In fact, rage was radiating from him like heat.

I stared at the alpha leader, saying nothing.

"Fine, fine. Not like it matters." Floyd straightened in his chair. "That stupid cult is a problem. I thought if you saw what they were up to, you'd take care of them for me. Simple as that."

Simple as that, my ass. "Keep sending me into situations like this and see what happens."

Floyd's face flushed, and a vein popped out on his forehead. "Are you threatening me?"

Of course I was. But I decided to dodge the question for Ronan's sake. From the vibes I was getting, I suspected I'd stressed him out enough.

"All I ask," I said, "is for whatever information you have about a problem before you throw me at it."

Floyd sniffed. He'd finally detected the blood in my hair—or finally acknowledged it. "Did the rats try to kill you?"

"They tried," I said. "I'm not that easy to kill." Gods. I sounded like a cardboard character in an action film.

"Believe me, I know." Floyd scratched the back of his neck. Apparently, the anti-itch charm was wearing off. I could hardly express how much that pleased me.

"Alpha, what do you say we get straight to the chocolatey center of this Tootsie Pop. Why do you want these guys dead, and how is that connected to the grimoire?"

"They're not connected, and I don't want them dead," he said. "I want them stopped. Couple of my alphas got mixed up with that group and were putting the welfare of their weird cult before the pack. No wolf of mine puts anything before his pack."

Sure. Because that didn't sound culty at all. "Some of the cult followers think you're trying to kill them."

"If I'd wanted them dead, I'd have sent my second to take them out. He's more than up to the job. You met him." The satisfied smile he gave me had me rethinking Mason Hartman's motivation.

What if the second hadn't been protecting his alpha from a dagger-wielding witch? What if he'd attacked me on Floyd's orders?

Also, I couldn't help but feel the alpha's words were a dig at Ronan. Meaning, he could trust Hartman to murder for him but couldn't trust his son to do the same.

"I saw an opportunity. Look, I just want to put the fear of the goddess into them so they quit with this demon-summoning bullshit." He scratched the underside of his jaw. "I'd run them out of town, but they're related to the local alpha leader, and I don't need a rat vs wolves war on my hands."

"And none of this is connected to the book you asked me to get for you?"

He dug his nails into his forearm, leaving streaks of red behind. "This again? No. You're the one who asked me about the cult, remember? I was trying to help."

Help. Right. He could've explained all this on the phone, but that was Alpha Floyd. The man gave with one hand and took with the other. Still, I believed him. He lied as easily as he spoke, but he had a few tells, and he was using none of them.

"Fine," I said. "About the Weret-hekau Maleficium . I've moved the meeting?—"

"That's good, but, uh, can you do something about the wolfsbane first?" He scratched the back of his head. "I'm out of hydrocortisone cream, and this charm isn't working right."

I was tempted to ask him for a favor in return, but something kept me from doing it. Something tall, wolf-shaped, and impatient behind me.

Damn it, Ronan.

"Fine." I rose, walked behind Alpha Floyd's desk, and shooed him. He rolled back with a squeak of the beleaguered chair's wheels. I felt for the hex bag Cecil had taped to the underside of the drawer and pulled it off.

The alpha's face drained of color. "How the devil did that get there?"

"Magic." I shoved the thing into a nullification bag inside my purse and retook my seat. "Now. About the grimoire…"

A half hour later, I was seated across from Ronan in his office. Fennel had, once again, elected to hang out atop the Mini instead of coming into a bar swarming with canines.

"Told you he'd pay for the bookseller's trip here," I said.

"You know him well."

Too well. Way too well.

"How's your head?" he asked.

"I should be completely healed by morning if I keep the charms on. Right now, I can't feel much pain, so that's good."

"How many are you wearing?"

"Just short of enough." I gave him a wry smile and drained the cold bottle of water he'd handed me when we'd walked in.

Ronan tossed my empty into a bin beside his desk marked RECYCLE then sat back in his chair, fingers steepled over his mouth. He looked at me like a shark eying a school of fish.

"What was Alpha doing in the blackmail photo?"

"Why were you demoted?" I countered. "If Mason Hartman challenged you to a dominance battle, the entire paranormal community would've been talking about it, so I know that wasn't how it went down."

"No challenge was necessary. The alpha needs his second to be a bodyguard, too. I don't have time, nor do I want to make time, for that." This he said stiffly, through clenched teeth. "Tell me about the photo."

"Why don't you just challenge Floyd for the pack? You're twice the wolf he is."

"No, I'm not."

"Stop hiding your power, Ronan. You'd be an incredible pack leader."

" You don't know me ." He dropped his hands to the desk and turned his gaze to the wall to my right. I'd expected annoyance in his expression, but what I got looked more like … pain. "Not like that. I am not the sort of wolf who should lead anyone."

"I disagree, but you obviously don't want to talk about it, so I'll leave it alone."

"Thank you." He brought his gaze back to me. "Now tell me about the godsdamned photo."

"I would, but?—"

"Damn it, Betty." He dropped his head back, slid his hand over his eyes.

"No, truly. I would. But he's your alpha leader, Ronan. Since he's—as you said—more powerful than you are, he can command you to tell him that I showed you the photo. If that happens, I lose my leverage."

Ronan glared at me.

It was a trap, and he knew it.

He had two choices. Reassure me that his father wasn't strong enough to compel him to do anything, which would make him admit that he knew he was more alpha than his father—or continue to keep his "secret." He couldn't do both.

"Eventually," he said, staring at me with an intensity I found hard to match, "you'll tell me everything."

"Eventually," I replied, "you'll let me in on your plan for the pack."

He sat up, gave me a disarming smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

It didn't work. I was still armed. "So it's like that, Pallás?"

"It's like that, Lennox," he said.

He didn't trust me with the truth. It stung, though I understood. If I'd completely trusted him, I'd have shown him the photo of his father in a compromising position with the alpha leader of the Yuma wolf pack without any stipulations.

Floyd getting it on with the Yuma alpha wasn't a big deal to me, but the alpha had cultivated a hatred for the southern Arizona pack in his wolves to prevent them from leaving him and joining the larger, more powerful pack. That photo contained the sort of information that could destabilize his pack's power structure and seal Floyd's fate for good.

And it was one of the less incriminating pictures I had.

When the photos came into my possession, Ida had asked me why I didn't just throw the photos at the pack and let the chips fall where they may. My answer back then was that Floyd's next in line had been an even more abusive wolf with power similar to what I'd witnessed in Mason Hartman.

A blackmailed Floyd Pallás was a far better option than a fearless Mason Hartman. At least with the alpha, I had some power, limited though it might be.

But if Ronan was willing to take over … that changed things.

Too bad he wasn't.

"Why did you come for me today?" I asked.

A golden sheen glided over his eyes, there and gone so fast I thought I'd imagined it. His expression went ice cold. "Hartman would've killed you if I hadn't."

"No. He wouldn't have. He'd have hurt me, but he wouldn't kill me. Your father wouldn't let him. Alpha Floyd knows the information I've got on him is on a hair trigger."

A muscle pulsed in Ronan's cheek.

"You knew he wouldn't, too. So, I'll ask again. Why did you come for me today?"

Ronan leaned back in his chair. "I want you to finish this job for the alpha. To help Gladys. You can't do that dead."

So he was sticking to the "Mason would've killed me" reasoning.

"You can tell me the truth, you know," I said, "about anything you want."

"I did."

"So, it's like that?" I repeated.

He gave nothing away, verbally or non.

"Ronan, if you only know one thing about me, let it be this." I stood, placed my hands on his desk, and leaned over it. "I never betray my friends."

The golden sheen swept over his intent green-hazel gaze again. There one second, gone the next. "Are you saying we're friends, beautiful, beguiling Betty?"

I shook my head at the obvious deflection.

"All I'm saying is you can trust me." I held his gaze as I reached across the desk and set a fresh lavender bud on his closed laptop.

Then I tipped my head at him and walked out.

Did I just tell Ronan Pallás that I'm his friend?

All the way home, I asked myself that question. I followed it up with the obvious: Am I his friend?

There was no denying that I found him interesting. And I would've had to be made of stone not to have noticed how physically attractive he was. But looks alone had never done it for me. To take that crucial step away from mere attraction and move into real friendship, I needed more.

Ronan had given me plenty of reasons to like him.

And a few reasons not to.

And still, I trust him. Even worse, I want him to trust me, too.

I parked the Mini and trudged up to my trailer, grabbing my mail—bills, of course—on the way. After my eventful morning, I had two priorities. Shower and a nap. I wanted to wash the blood out of my hair, and I needed rest before the god summoning this evening. Also, food. I needed food.

So, three priorities.

Make that four. I also had a call to make—or rather, return.

"Dance With Me" by Orleans floated through my trailer. It was a gentle song with a nostalgic vibe. I hummed the chorus as I made a peanut butter and boozy jam sandwich and sat down at my table with it, a glass of iced mint tea, and my phone.

"Hey, Betty. Found someone willing to part with their Persephone's Ear," Beau said. "The guy needs the money, so he's willing to sell it to you fast, no questions asked. I've done business with him before. You can trust him."

"That's great news."

"Figured you'd be happy to hear that. Also, a mage came in here asking about the Siete Saguaros. Said he was interested and took your number. Thought you'd want to know."

"Thanks, Beau. Appreciate the heads-up. Can you text me the information on the lamp?"

"Sure. He'll overnight it, so it should be there tomorrow afternoon, I'd guess. Contingent on payment." He rattled off an asking price that would clean out every last cent in my checking, savings, and money market accounts.

Ah well. Sexton was good for it. He'd be thrilled I found one so soon, too.

"Thanks. I'll wire them the money after we get off the phone and send you your cut after the artifact arrives."

"Good doing business with you," he said. "And Betty?"

"Yeah?"

"Think about what I said before. The people at Siete Saguaros need you to stay. It's what Lila would've wanted."

I ended the call, wired the money to the seller, and ate my sandwich as guilt ate at me. I texted Sexton to let him know his artifact was on its way and that I'd be summoning a god in his cemetery tonight.

As expected, that netted me an immediate phone call.

"You intend to what ?" The power in his voice made my ears pop and my stomach ache.

"Please dial back your voice. It's making my teeth hurt."

"Explain yourself. Now ."

"I'm trying to, but whenever you speak, my ears start to bleed."

"Then perhaps the pain will awaken you to how dangerous it is to summon anything from the otherworlds, much less a god." He sighed, and my heart sped up like I'd downed a pot of double-caffeinated coffee.

"Sexton, please. Chill. It's not what you think."

I gave him the story in broad strokes, leaving out the finer details.

By the end of the conversation, he'd dialed back his voice, but my head still throbbed, and I was pretty sure he'd meant it to. Subtlety was not the gravedigger demon's strong suit.

Despite his initial anger, he ended up not only giving me permission to use his cemetery for tonight's events but also instantly paying me for the artifact and the job. Instantly . As in, the notification came through the second he voiced his pleasure at my having found the lamp.

Some sort of demon ability, I supposed. I wasn't interested enough to figure out how he did it. Sexton wasn't my main focus at the moment.

A fresh heal charm, a long nap, and a quick dinner later, I locked up my trailer and made the short trek to my garden room. I stopped at Red's grave along the way and took a moment to drop to my haunches and sink my fingers into the soil.

I desperately needed to feel a connection to my mother's land. I'd been missing her so much lately. Our relationship had been a complicated one, but the big-picture takeaway was that I'd loved her and she'd loved me.

We'd just occasionally screwed up the details.

I pushed magic into the earth the way I'd done for the planters outside Wicked and Floyd's bar. The soil in the planters had been excited to make contact with me, so happy to lend me magic even as it accepted mine. It had given me hope.

The soil here gave me the usual response.

A low hum of magic just out of reach. Magic turned in on itself. Magic that didn't recognize my power.

Magic that hated me.

I reached for it again, pouring every drop of magic I had at my disposal into the soil. The saguaro roots reached for me, assuring me that the protection spell was strong.

The soil did nothing. It was far away. Weak.

Gone.

Frustrated, I jerked my hands out of the dirt and dusted them off. "You'd better hope the mage Beau told me about resonates with you." A sob caught in my throat. "Because I can't keep doing this. You're killing me."