Page 38 of Curses and Casualties
“People are dying,” I growl, not liking his casual tone.
His eyes flash. Not red like in movies, but black, endless black. “People are always dying, young wolf. The question is whether their deaths have meaning.” The darkness recedes, and he’s back to urbane businessman. “Which brings us to your problem. The curse you carry is elder work—witch magic from before the Councils, before the Accords, before the world was carved up into neat supernatural territories.”
“Can you break it?” Georgia asks.
“Me? No. I’m many things, but witch isn’t one of them.” He opens a drawer and withdraws a crystal decanter filled with something that definitely isn’t wine. “Would you care for a drink?”
“Pass,” Scarlett says flatly.
“Pity. This is an excellent vintage. Type O negative, aged twenty-three years.” He pours himself a glass, the liquid thick and dark. “But I digress. You need the Witch of Greenlake.”
“Who is she?” I ask. “Where can we find her?”
“She is possibly the last of the true witches—the ones who made bargains with forces older than civilization. As for finding her...” Nicolai takes a delicate sip. “That’s the amusing part. She cannot be found by those who seek her. Magic, you understand. The more desperately you search, the more invisible she becomes.”
“Oh, screw that,” Scarlett snaps, throwing up her hands. “There has to be a way?—”
“There is.” Nicolai’s smile shows just a hint of fang. “But you won’t like it.”
“Try us,” Ethan says, speaking for the first time since the dance floor.
“Magnus Erikson.”
The name lands like a stone in still water. Even Amara and Darius react, exchanging loaded glances.
“The Broken Alpha,” Darius breathes. “He’s real?”
“Oh, quite real. Living in his fortress in the Cascades, hiding from what he is, what he’s done.” Nicolai sets down his glass. “He found the witch once. The only being I know of who’s managed it. But then, he had proper motivation.”
“What kind of motivation?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to know.
“The kind that drives a man to cage his very essence.” Nicolai’s expression actually shows something like sympathy. “He hates what he is with such passion that he’ll pay any price to be free of it. The witch... helped. In her way.”
“By binding his wolf?” Amara asks slowly.
Nikolai nods. “You can cage a wolf, but you cannot kill it. Not without killing the man.” He shrugs elegantly. “So Magnus lives in his fortress, neither man nor wolf, forever caught between. He has what you need—knowledge of where the witch lairs, possibly even how to summon her. But he will not part with it easily.”
“What will it take?” Georgia asks.
“That depends entirely on what kind of man you find when you reach him. The Magnus I knew—before his binding—would have helped for honor’s sake. The creature he’s become?” Nicolai retrieves a business card from his desk. “He’s likely to demand a sacrifice just to get his hands on the magic of a fresh heartstone. Approach carefully. He has killed wolves for merely existing in his presence.”
I take the card. The address is remote, mountains and forest for miles around. Perfect for a man who wants to disappear.
“What’s your price for this?” I ask, because vampires never give anything freely.
“Bjorn’s marker pays for the information. And all I ask is that you deliver a message to Magnus.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“Tell him Nicolai sends his regards.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “That’s it.”
The vampire smirks. “He’ll either help you immediately or try to kill you.” That cold smile returns. “Either way, it should resolve your situation.”
We’re escorted back to the elevator. The club is still in full swing when we pass through, but Amara keeps her hands glowing faintly silver, and the music’s compulsion slides off us like oil on water.
Outside, the pre-dawn air is sharp and clean after the club’s perfumed interior. We walk several blocks in silence before anyone speaks.
