Page 45 of Wicked Witch of the Wolf

“When you say everything, what exactly do you mean?”

“I know who your grandfather is. I know who your father is. And I know how to bring back the saguaros.”

Three years.

I’d suffered for three years, and Margaux had been sitting on all the answers. Of course, there was a chance she was lying. Bronwyn could’ve told her about Sexton, and she could’ve extrapolated from that and made up something about a father I knew nothing about. But the saguaros? I didn’t talk about them with just anyone. I didn’t think even Bronwyn knew how badly I missed them.

“I need your help,” she said.

“Why in the world would I help you? Not only did you desert my mom when she needed you most, you?—”

“I didn’t desert her,” she yelled as loudly as she was able, which wasn’t very. “I’d never do that to Lila. She was my b-best f-friend.” She heaved again, and this time did throw up.

I looked at Cecil. He shrugged. I glanced down at Fennel, who’d stopped twining between my legs and was now sitting on my shoe.

“Meow.”

“Fine.” I stuck my hands on my hips and muttered, “I can’t believe these words are coming out of my mouth.Margaux Ramirez, you have my permission to enter this property up to, inside, and no further than, my house.”

She flopped over onto her back. The lapels of her covenrobe were shredded. Her throat was bruised, and there was blood on her chest and the purse she’d slung over her shoulder.

“What happened to you?”

“Desmond Mace made a play for the coven tonight and won. I’m no longer coven mother.”

“Oh shit.”

This was not good. Very not good. For Maya or me.

“It gets worse. Bronwyn is missing.”

Chapter

Ten

“What do you meanmissing?”

I’d helped Margaux into the bathroom to clean up, and now she was seated at my kitchen table looking like death warmed over. The world truly was a strange place sometimes.

“To be transparent, I don’t know. All I know for certain is I’ve been trying to reach her since last night, and she’s not responding.”

“Did you piss her off?” I asked.

“Not that I’m aware of.” She took a tissue from her pocket and blotted her forehead and upper lip. Her skin was a sickly shade of pale green.

“Why didn’t you just call and ask permission to enter? You’d have saved yourself some suffering.”

“Desmond destroyed my phone.”

I passed her a cup of hot peppermint tea. She thanked me then rose and went to the pantry where Mom had kept the sugar. Grabbed the sugar bowl, took a spoon out of the drawer, and sat back down.

“I was going to offer you sugar.” There was an edge of bitterness in my tone.

“Saved you the trouble,” she replied, as she stirred a healthy teaspoon into the tea.

It annoyed me how at home she was in my mother’s—my—kitchen. I made a mental note to rearrange the entire room, starting with the pantry.

“Is the pain charm helping?” I asked.

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