Page 36 of The Wolf and his Witch

Gabriel stood in Annabelle’s apartment staring at the Christmas tree, his chest all tight. There, amongst the red and green baubles, the bows and the tinsel, were the hand carved ornaments he’d bought for her at the Christmas markets in Paris. On Christmas Eve. The night he’d walked away from her without an explanation. She’d kept them.

He’d known Annabelle was missing her family so he’d taken her to the Christmas markets to buy decorations and treats. While she’d been preoccupied at one stall, he’d purchased a beautiful hand-blown glass star, as delicate as the snowflake it’d been modeled on. He’d planned to put it on top of the tree he bought for her once she was asleep, and surprise her in the morning. He’d never gotten back to her apartment.

Instead of spending the night together drinking good wine, eating artisan cheeses and handmade chocolates, she’d spent Christmas Eve alone. And Christmas day.

He took in the angel on the top of this tree. Had she kept the star? She must have found it in amongst their parcels. Had she brought it home with her, or left it in Paris?

“Nothing in the linen closet,” said Isobella, walking back into the living area.

Stef came to stand beside him. “We’ve searched every inch of this apartment, Gabriel. It’s not here. I could go back to Marjory’s and take another look, but…” She shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t think we’ll find it there either.”

Gabriel plucked one of the wooden ornaments from the tree and cradled it in his palm. The little reindeer looked small and fragile in his large hand.

“She wouldn’t have taken it into work with her, would she?” asked Isobella.

Could she have taken it back to Rarity? It would be easy to hide there. One book among many. Nobody would expect it.

Gabriel glanced at the tree. Rarity had a little tree. A tree with fake presents beneath it. That’s what she’d been doing when he’d walked in that morning—standing beside the Christmas tree. She wasn’t supposed to be working. It was her day off, according to her boss. She’d said she’d come in to finish a catalog she’d been working on, but she’d been standing by the tree, fussing over one of the brightly wrapped parcels beneath it.

“I know where the grimoire is.” He turned to face the woman that would be his ancestor. “Isobella, do you know the preparations needed for this spell?”

Isobella nodded. “I helped Annabelle with it when she was testing it. We’ll need to go out to Muir Woods. The connection with nature seems to help.”

A plan formed in Gabriel’s mind. “Stef, get in touch with Alain. We may need backup. Then take Isobella up to Muir Woods. I’ll go to Rarity and pick up the grimoire, then I’ll meet you there.”

“What about the time paradox? You know, the risk of meeting yourself in the past and…not existing.” Isobella chewed on her lower lip. “It’s something Annabelle worried about. That and the fact she could never quite get the timing right.”

Gabriel stared at the wooden reindeer still in his hand. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

* * * *

Gabriel was grateful that Brian, the owner of Rarity, was busy with a customer when he entered the store. He made straight forthe little Christmas tree by the window, with its silver and gold baubles and gold star on the top. Beneath it, artfully arranged, were a half a dozen Christmas presents, all with the same gold wrapping paper and silver ribbon. He glanced at Brian, who was talking animatedly to the customer, a book open on the counter between them. Which ‘present’ held the grimoire?

He sniffed, inhaling the scent of pine, old books, Brian, the citrusy musk of the customer’s Dior Sauvage aftershave and Annabelle. No help there. He’d have to pick up and smell each individual book. Brian would notice that, and it may not be of any help. There was a possibility Annabelle had wrapped them all.

Brian glanced at him over his spectacles. “Oh, hello again. I’ll be right with you.”

Gabriel waved him off. “Take your time.”

Time. He felt it slipping through his fingers. Who knew what state his Annabelle was in. Brian turned back to Mr. Dior and Gabriel brought his wolf close to the surface, opened his senses and focused on the gift-wrapped boxes. There. The one at the bottom of the pile. A subtle vibration, repelling him. A witch’s ward.

He pulled out his phone and put a call through to Alain.

“This had better be important,” Alain fierce-whispered. “I’m right in the middle of the election debate.”

Gabriel turned his back to Brian and kept his voice low. “How do I break a witch’s ward?”

“Hold on a minute.” A muffled apology, a few startled exclamations, a ‘this is a life-or-death situation’ muttered by Alain, then Alain was back on the line, no longer whispering. “That depends on who created the ward and what its intended purpose is.”

“Annabelle created it. She’s a blood witch. She’s placed it on a grimoire she’s been hiding.”

“Was she hiding the grimoire from you?”

“Yes, but also others.”

“Mmm. Blood witch wards are strong. This could take time. How long have you got?”

Gabriel rubbed his hand across his face. “I don’t have time, Alain. I need it. Now. Annabelle’s in trouble. I have to save my mate, and it’s the only way I can see to do it.”

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