Page 52 of Wolf's Bane
“It’s true.”
“How would you feel if it was Miles?”
Luis paled. “Do not jest. It could be. We won’t know until the autumn equinox.”
Solenne turned her gaze to the garden bed, and the freshly turned earth. “It’s a mean-spirited word. I know it’s true. I’m not blind or oblivious.” Once she had Alek snarling in her presence, at least. There had been signs, not even subtle ones at that.
Luis picked at the pile of discarded weeds, shredding the greenery and scattering dirt over his trousers. “I know you’re not oblivious, and I don’t know what other word to use except that one you always say is loaded with superstitious nonsense.”
“Werewolf,” she supplied.
He pointed a finger in her direction and tipped his head in acknowledgment. “I wanted to talk with you about our, uh, growly little problem.”
“You saw the, um…blast! Why don’t we have a better word for this? I dislike saying beast—”
“Because of Alek. Because he kissed you.”
Solenne narrowed her eyes. How tiresome. “Yes, because Alek has been in our home for weeks and he’s not a mindless beast, despite what we’ve been taught. If we’re wrong about Alek—”
“What else are we wrong about?” Luis said, finishing her thought.
“Yes.”
“An out-of-control creature attacked us. Whatever is going on with Alek, we cannot ignore the larger issue.”
Solenne remembered how the creature sniffed her, the feel of its hot, disgusting tongue on her skin, and wondered how out-of-control it had truly been. It could have easily gutted her with one swipe of its claws but seemed to have enough sense to consider its options.
“The creature that attacked was old enough to develop immunity to silver,” she said.
“Yes, exactly.” Luis pulled a sheet of folded paper from the front pocket of the bag. “Father wants to devise a trap, but once the, um, target is contained, what are you going to do? Poke it with our little knives? Annoy it to death? I have a better idea.” He unfolded the paper, and Solenne immediately recognized the handwriting.
“Where did you get this? How dare you destroy her notebook?” She snatched the page of her mother’s faded scrawl.
Tidy lines filled the page, listing known facts. A small illustration sat in the center, distorted by fold lines. Finally, neatly numbered unanswered questions waited at the bottom of the page.
Blackthorn.
Mindful of the dirty fingerprints she left, she refrained from tracing the lines of the ancient sword. Knowing her mother, the illustration was meant to be based on eyewitness accounts but was most likely a product of Amalie’s imagination. As rigorously as her mother pursued her research, she had a nasty habit of using a handful of facts to paint an entire picture.
“I found it in Father’s study, caught under a desk drawer,” Luis said. “It’s her handwriting, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Solenne agreed.
“We need to find Blackthorn.”
She folded the paper carefully and reluctantly handed it back to her brother. “That’s a legend.”
“The sword is real. Mother thought it was real.”
“A magic sword that can turn vampires and werewolves into a pile of dust? No.”
“Mother believed it was real.” Luis pulled out a worn book from the satchel and flipped open the pages. Carefully, he tucked in the loose page.
Solenne recognized the book immediately, despite believing it destroyed. “Where did you find that? Not tucked behind a bookcase.”
Carefully, she took her mother’s journal from Luis’ hands and flipped through the pages. The ink seemed fresh on the page, as if Amalie had written them recently. Inky fingerprints and smeared lead pencil smudged the pages. The scent of lavender and ink still clung to the binding.
“Miles had it. He didn’t steal it,” Luis added quickly. “Mama said he could read her old journals, and you know. When he thought to return them, Papa had burned her journals, so he kept them safe.”
