Page 63 of Wicked Witch of the Wolf

“Your friends are missing,” he said, “you’re attempting to retrieve them from a dangerous witch. You are not at full power. This is unwise.”

“Godsdamn it, who told you that?” I asked, as if I didn’t know it was Ida. For someone who’d despised Sexton for years, she sure called the guy a lot. “I don’t need help,” I lied, then thought better of it and added, “yet.”

“You need only summon me, and I will be at your side.”

Not that I’d ever do it, but I had to ask, “How exactly do I summon you?”

“There is the traditional way, salt circle, chant—but I prefer the alternative.”

I stared at the front door of Desmond’s house and wondered how many hex bags Cecil had already taken care of. I tried not to worry about him too much. He was magical in ways I didn’t understand, just like Fennel.

He’s okay. He’s okay.I repeated the words in my head like a mantra.

“The alternative?”

“Call out my full name. No need to yell it, but you must speak it. Include my honorific, or I will not hear you.”

“So, what? Mr. Bertrand Sexton? Bertrand Sexton, Esquire?” Flippancy in the face of abject fear was entirely on brand for me, so I’m sure it didn’t surprise Sexton.

“No. I am not an attorney, nor am I landed gentry.” His voice, and the phone, went ice cold again. “I am Lord Bertrand Sexton. There is no need to include my other titles.”

That gave me pause. “You’re a Lord? What does that mean?”

“Summon me, and I shall tell you.”

“Feels like a trap.”

His laugh was like a Buick in a car crusher. It hurt my ears and my teeth. “You are wise, my granddaughter. Very wise.”

He ended the call.

“You heard that?”

Fennel nodded.

“It was weird, right?”

He nodded again.

I powered off the phone, and we got out of the car. I grabbed Cecil’s pack and strapped it onto my back. It took more trust than I’d have thought. My eyebrows had barely grown back since the last time Cecil set off an explosive in my vicinity.

“Stay out of sight for as long as you can while still watching my back,” I said to Fennel. “We want him to think I’m alone. If anything happens to me, get Cecil and go home. Ida knows what to do. You’ll be safe with her.”

“Meow.” He shot off to the side of the house and ducked beside the porch.

Fear gripped me then, the reality of the risk I was taking hitting home. It felt as if I were wading through a thick, sticky fog. Every drop of self-preservation I possessed was screaming at me to run in the other direction, which told me my instincts were correct.

I have to get into that house.

The neighborhood felt like a ghost town, yet there were cars parked in driveways, a portable basketball court on the street, sprinklers running… It was very obviously an occupied community; it just didn’t seem that way. Maybe everyone was at work. Maybe things got livelier after five.

Or maybe I was looking for reasons to be weirded out.

To knock or not to knock?

Announcing myself would be about the stupidest thing I could do. However, it would also be the last thing Desmond expected.

I took a moment to plant my feet in the inevitable event of a violent hello. I finished the chant I’d started after leaving the car—a shield spell to prevent me from being slammed with magic. Unfortunately, it was one of those double-edged-sword type of spells. It formed a magical protective bubble that left me unable to cast any magic from inside.

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