Page 16 of Faerie Marked

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?”

“Foranything. 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. “Thewards, 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.”

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