Page 56 of Wicked Witch of the Wolf

“Office,” I managed.

She faced the room. “I’ll be back in a jiff. Keeptrack of your refills, please. Charlie Hannigan, if you lay one claw on that tap while I’m gone, I’ll bite it off at the knuckle.”

Charlie’s eyes went wide with fear and what looked like admiration. “Yes, ma’am.”

An older man on a barstool piped up with, “We’ll keep an eye on things, Gladys. Do what ya need to.”

She wrapped an arm around my back and ushered me into the short hall that led to Ronan’s office.

“He still hasn’t shown up.”

“No.” She guided me to a chair. “His truck is parked out front, but he’s gone. If he’s taken his wolf out for a run, he’s done it at the worst possible time.”

“Speaking of, I need to borrow his truck.”

“…better tell me where the bitch is,ex-coven mother.”

“W-Why?” Margaux gasped then coughed.

Desmond’s face was so close to hers it looked like he might kiss her. “Because she took something from me. A book.”

“Book?” Margaux asked, as if we didn’t both know exactly what he was asking about. “Who cares about a stupid book? Where’s Bronwyn?”

“Alive, which is more than I’ll be able to say for you in a few minutes.”

“I might surprise you,” she retorted in that tone even I wanted to pop her for using.

Damn it, Margaux, shut up.

Desmond held out his hands as if receiving a message from Heaven. I could practically feel him drawing power. “Mother Earth, lend me your magic.”

“He’s grounding himself, which means he’s about to cast. Get out of there,” I said.

Gladys glanced over her shoulder. “Betty, who are you talking to?”

I ignored her. “Move, Margaux.”

“Betty?” Gladys perched on the desk and studied me.

“Where is Bronwyn?” Margaux sounded like she was cold. Teeth-chattering freezing. “What have you done with her?”

Desmond cackled. Literally. There was simply no other way to describe the sound that came out of his mouth. “She’s where they all go once Alpha Pallás decides they’ve outlived their usefulness. Don’t know what I’m talking about? You soon will,Coven Mother.”

His face wrenched left. Or, rather, Margaux’s head twisted right. My stomach flipped over as the world went sideways, and she went down. I caught a glimpse of Desmond’s bare feet as her head slammed into the wooden floor once, twice. He hadn’t moved an inch; he was doing it all with magic.

“Margaux!”

Blood speckled then gushed onto the light oak. A third slam, and blood flowed until I couldn’t see anything else.

And then I couldn’t see anything at all. The connection had been brutally, painfully severed.

Gladys tucked a tissue into my hand. “I’m assuming you’re under some kind of spell right now. I don’t understand it, but I want to help you. Tell me what I can do.”

I sniffed, pressed the tissue to my eyes, and drew it away. It was soaked.

“R-Ronan’s truck.”

She took a ring of keys from her skirt pocket and went around the desk. “He keeps a spare set in here in case we need to move his truck when he’s out on a run. It only happened once, but that’s how he is. Always thinking about our convenience.”

---