Page 99 of Wicked Witch of the Wolf

“Can you?”

“Am I going to love it? No. Will I accept it? Yes.”

If I’d offended him with my snappish tone, he didn’t show it. “Very well.” He folded into a cross-legged position on the grass.

Although he was still tall even when seated, it felt awkward not to sit, too, so I plopped into the grass beside him. Dampness seeped into the seat of my jeans, making me cold and uncomfortable.

“You will allow me silence in which to work.” His eyelids closed like window shades, snapping in place at the end.

Silence and I hadn’t been the best of friends lately, not including my time underground. Now I was sitting on wet grass in a cemetery at a quarter to nine p.m. with a demon who didn’t want me to talk. It didn’t get quieter than that.

I entertained myself with imaginary, empty threats aimed at Ronan.

So help me, if you ran off with someone, I’m going to punch you in the jaw so hard your teeth will shoot straight into your brain.

If you’re hiding because you don’t have the guts to break up with me, even though we never actually made it official-official, we’re going to have to go to the emergency room to have my foot surgically removed from your ass.

If you’re hiding, and you’re hurt, and you’re trying to protect me from your father, I’m going to be furious. I might not choke you, but I’m definitely going to destroy your YouTube algorithm to favor videos of wolves having their asses kicked in the wild.

“Ronan, please stop hiding. I need to know you’re okay. Even if you don’t want to be with me, I just need to know.”

That one wasn’t cathartic at all. It was just plain embarrassing.

“Yes, it was a little embarrassing,” Sexton said.

“Are you reading my mind?”

“You spoke out loud.”

Great. Nothing like setting all the insecurities on the front page of the newspaper for everyone to read.

“Your Ronan is alive.” His eyelids rolled up. “Does this help you, granddaughter?”

Granddaughter? Not sure I’d ever be used to hearing that. “Yes.”

“It bothers you when I call you that.”

I sighed. “Sexton, I’m so filled with anxiety and worry, I can’t seem to separate it all.”

“I understand, Betty.”

The look in his sunken, cavernous eyes made me feel like I’d bullied a kindergartener. “I haven’t been called that since my abuela died, and even then, she mostly called me nieta. Give me time.”

He perked up. As much as a millennia-old demon was capable of, anyway. “I will.”

I cleared my throat. “Do you know where he is?”

“Yes. He is close.”

“Like here? In the cemetery?” I sprang to my feet and spun around. “Or do you mean in the town? Wait, is he at my house? Did he show up after I left? The pub? Where?” Excitement mixed with hope and fear and joy and came out as a giant ball of anxiety. “Please tell me. I’ll bring you all the belladonna you want. I’ll walk into Purgatory and pluck it from Gnath’s wife’s garden myself,” I said, referring to a demon I’d had some experiences with recently.

“That won’t be necessary. I can brew several pots of homesickness tea with the amount you have provided me.” A series of cracks and creaks behind me told me that he, too, had risen. “And you do not need to bribe me to help you. I will always do my best to lend you aid.”

This from the being who’d nearly given me frostbite from a phone conversation. More than once.

But then I supposed lots of families had complicated relationships.

“An individual in Smokethorn helped him hide. This person has limited power and robust rage. I am pleased with the wolf’s choice of allies in this instance.”

---