Page 63 of Strike It Witch

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, theanti-itchcharm 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 theWeret-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?”

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