Page 90 of Wicked Witch of the Wolf

“All that for Bronwyn?”

“Yes,” he said softly.

“I’m totally going to tell her you’re in love with her.”

Mason ducked around the burning tree and said, “She already knows.”

I ran into the house to see what the heck Cecil was doing now.

Animated chittering and a couple of cat screeches sounded from the room where the witches had been. I knew that sound. My partners were pissed at each other.

“What’s going on in here? Why aren’t you guys with the witches and rats?”

Fennel had the strap of my bag in his mouth and was glaringmutinously at Cecil, who had a hex bag in one hand and a lit fireplace match in the other.

I knew nothing about the scene, yet I was pretty sure I knew everything I needed to know.

“I told him he could burn this place to the ground, Fennel. Let’s get clear, and let him do it.”

Fennel growled at me.

“What?” I looked at Cecil, who appeared as puzzled as a guy whose eyes were entirely hidden beneath his hat could look.

The cat bounded to the door. I slung my bag over my shoulder and followed him. He led us through the house, around the one side I hadn’t managed to make it to in my original inspection, and stood at the crawlspace opening.

“Meow.”

A chorus of tiny meows echoed out from the crawlspace and—one, two, three—six—kittens strolled out of the opening and surrounded him, rubbing their faces on his paws, back, and face.

“Are they yours?” I asked.

His ears flattened.

“Fine, you’re not the dad. It’s a legitimate question. I don’t know where you disappear to some nights.” I looked around. “Where’s the mama?”

Fennel shook his head sadly.

“They’re orphan kittens?”

Cecil blew out the match.

Chapter

Nineteen

When we got to the car, the witches were secured in the back seat. The rats in human form had again shifted to rodent form and were rolling around the floorboards with five of the kittens.

For their part, the tiny cats didn’t appear to have any hunting instinct in regard to the rats. Either because their mother had died before she could teach them or because the rats were significantly larger than them.

“Thank you for putting out the tree fire,” I said to Cecil.

No response.

“I know you’re disappointed, and I’m sorry. When we have more time, we’ll come back here, make sure there are no critters beneath the house, and then you can blow it up, okay?”

Cecil, who was holding the smallest of the orphaned kittens, a Bombay female with eyes like Fennel and a missing front paw, nodded. I’d expected him to be more upset, but he seemed oddly at peace with the situation.

Margaux was unconscious but alive, and Bronwyn was pretty much comatose. Her limbs were stiff, and I couldn’t imagine howpainful it was going to be when she woke up. I’d make sure to have Cecil craft ahealcharm?—

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